


Cross My Heart and Hope to Die

by Zell_Hatoule



Series: Cross My Heart and Hope To Die [2]
Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Akhos is Not Amused, Amalthus fuckery, Characters to be added upon plot mention, Failed attempt at Sexual Assault, M/M, Malos doesn't know how to handle people being nice, Malos is a shiny Rock, Man fuck Almalthus, Rex's Murderous protectivenss, Spoilers for Golden Country, not explicit, spoilers for the whole game, tagging for safety
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:41:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 67,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23548573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zell_Hatoule/pseuds/Zell_Hatoule
Summary: Nothing says you are unwanted quite like murder. Almalthus tries to cut a loose end, and Malos ends up lost in the Cloud Sea.Until a boy with a too big heart and a soul as bright as the sun fishes him from the sea.On hold.
Relationships: Metsu | Malos/Rex
Series: Cross My Heart and Hope To Die [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1792288
Comments: 143
Kudos: 154





	1. Lost At Sea

**Author's Note:**

> This was a bit of a thought-piece about what Malos would be like if he actually had a good experience with a Driver and it snowballed. This is _not_ an Aegiswap, even if it kind of seems like one.

Glittering lights wink temptingly out of Rex’s immediate search area, shining like soft beacons despite the darkness and distance. Shaking his head, the diver focuses his attention back on the case of metals that scuttlebutt had rumored to be here for at least a year and change. He’d even gotten hired by the Argentum Trade Guild Silversmith to find one of these rumored silver boxes for some _good_ money.

His searchlights catch the sight of rusted metal, and just because he can, he gives himself a little fist-pump when the logo of the Indol Metal Trade seal glitters back at him, set in unrusted steel. A firm knock around the edges show it isn’t even slightly hollow.

So it definitely wasn’t one of the fake boxes that salvagers left behind to fool people - this one was the real deal! Grinning, he sets it to rise, loads it onto the back of the Titan patiently waiting for him before diving again, just to check he hadn’t missed a second crate. Nothing glitters in his searchlights, even when he toggles the settings to dim.

Nothing but the purple glow he’d spotted earlier. Rex rises back up, removes his helmet as he sets it to the side to inspect his bounty. He taps a few times, and the hard thump in return makes him pump his fist up in triumph.

“I got one Gramps!” he yells cheerfully over his shoulder, and the Titan snorts at him, cranes his head to put the boy in his view.

“You don’t have to yell, Rex, I can hear you perfectly well.” the Titan promises with a fond chuckle, prompts a pout from Rex. “Regardless, well _done._ I’m very proud.” Rex beams at the praise, delighted.

“Thanks Gramps,” he runs a finger across the bridge of his nose. “Before we head out though, I want to head over a few hundred meters northwest.” The Titan hums, a patient but curious sound. “I saw some sort of glowing crystal - think maybe the Ardanian Jewels Guild might have dropped some stuff and it floated free!” He finishes with enthusiasm, and the Titan chuckles.

“I suppose, Rex,” Gramps sighs at his wayward charge. “But do be quick about it, it’s nearing sunset. It can get dangerous in this part of the Cloud Sea at night.” Rex gives him an unamused look.

“I stay out _one time_ past sunset in the five years I’ve been a salvager and you never let me forget it,” the boy grumps when Gramps chuckles. To hide his blush, he goes into the curved basin of his home and pulls out a pry bar. Looking it over, the boy clucks his tongue. “Damn. This one’s starting to go too. Gonna have to replace it soon,” he tells the Titan, who chuckles.

“That is the way of life,” Gramps says sagely. “Now, while you are opening the case, why don’t you tell me where to go so you can kill two birds with one stone?” After completing his inspection of the bar, Rex hums assent.

“Yeah, makes sense,” he agrees cheerfully, before putting his crowbar down to assess his surroundings. “Go northwest,” he says after a moment. “Hundred and twenty-five to hundred thirty meters away from us roughly.” At the responding shift, Rex grins. “Thanks Gramps, you’re a life-saver!” He says happily, receives a tolerant chuckle from the Titan. In the time it takes Gramps to get to the suggested area, he’s managed to pry the lid off to admire the ingots within.

_“Whoa,”_ he breathes, honestly awed. Solid silver ingots and a glittering shade of the rare black silver ingots. That was going to be enough to feed Fonsett for a _year_ if he negotiated it right.

And he _would_ be negotiating it. Now, if he really did get his hands on some luminous gems, then he was definitely going to make a killing. Grinning, he reseals the box and slams it shut to dive into the ocean in considerably better of a mood than he had been when he’d set out that same morning.

Once he’s _in_ the Cloud Sea though… he gives a brief pause at the sight of the crystals drifting around the water. Part of him is excited, of course - but weren’t gemstones _heavier?_ Shrugging the oddity off, Rex scoops the x-shaped crystal into a bag, dives deeper towards the source of illumination. On the way down, he encountered several more, each one glowing brighter than the last. The largest of them looked like it might have been part of a weapon once, though for what anyone would use a bright glowing stone for was beyond him.

Spear, perhaps?

Rex dives deeper. It’s at least another hundred peds down before he gets to his target. The glow is _bright_ here, a shining beacon of light that was intense enough for Rex to pull away from before his eyes adjusted.

His eyes go wide at the sight.

It’s a _Blade._

Gingerly, Rex loops his arm under the man’s neck, shifts the unmoving figure to a half-seated position. Black hair drifts around his face like a cloud of seaweed, dances ephemerally in the purple glow. Rex manages to wiggle his other arm under the Blade’s knees with that, generates enough lift to stand up.

For a Blade, the guy was surprisingly lightweight. Bubbles stream out from between his lips and his eyes crack open just a fraction, hazy and glowing. Something in Rex growls, the primal, possessive part of him that hated to see others in pain sitting up and paying attention. What kind of _asshole_ would actually toss out a Blade like this? Surely there were other ways to deal with a Blade than _toss them in the Cloud Sea._ He has to avoid growling under his breath like a savage, reserve his breath until he got back on the surface.

Rex pushes off the flat metal sheet he’d found the guy on, kicking sharply to build momentum and lift until he finds his depth probe. He sets the Blade snug against the rope platform he usually stood on, disengaging the sharp spikes on his boots in case anything happened and he stepped on the poor guy. As they lift towards the surface, Rex notices something else.

A trail of black liquid leaving his mouth, caught in the eddies of the Cloud Sea.

* * *

Azurda had seen many things in his life. So many unusual and unique tricks that Rex had even gotten to teasing him that he was impossible to surprise.

(Truthfully, Rex was not nearly as stealthy as he liked to think.)

But in his centuries of living, never had he expected his grandson in all but name to exit the Cloud Sea with a _body._ Perhaps he could have withstood it if the body had been of any other Blade or manner of creature aside from... 

Oh Alrest’s stars. _Him._

Azurda turns his head around to watch as Rex kneads his fingers against the back of the prone figure, black ooze dripping from pale, sun-deprived lips. Despite Rex’s best efforts, the figure remained unmoving, unresponsive save for the tar-like substance that continued to escape him.

“C’mon, you can do it!” Rex is encouraging the Blade, tilts him to a side to ease the way for whatever it was he had consumed to make him so unresponsive. Rex leans down, mouth over the Blade’s to push air into his lungs _hard._ Rex pulls back on instinct to avoid any coughing that he might have done to react, and when nothing happens, the boy growls.

So he does it again. It takes six tries before a response comes, the body convulsing before allowing him to turn the body aside and pat the Blade on the back, watching with concern as the black smears over Azurda’s back, sticks to his face. Rex hustles around, grabs a bucket and dunks it into the Cloud Sea, brings a brimming bucketful to bear so he can dip a cloth in the sloshing liquid and wash his face clean.

Glowing purple eyes crack open, and the Blade makes a soft keen, the noise silenced when the damp cloth comes back to gently wipe the black sludge from his mouth. He coughs again, and Rex frowns in worry, lifts the body up so his head rests against his chest.

There lies the undeniable proof, smeared with black. The viscous taint is seeping into every cranny, and Azurda’s eyes widen in spite of his steel resolve to feel no sympathy for the creature on his back.

Even the untrained eye could see well over half of the core crystal was gone, stolen away by something more damaging than a hammer and chisel. Rex dabs at the black there, washes the injury clean and rinses the rag before cupping a cheek in his hand, soft platitudes leaving his lips.

Azurda would have to be blind to miss the way the Blade’s head tilted weakly into Rex’s gloved hand, more black freeing itself from even more weakly moving lips. Rex has him cough some more of the sludge out before setting him against the box he had so proudly crowed over before to fetch some water.

“Here. Have a little.” A cool glass of water is tipped to his lips, and a weak whimper leaves him as he greedily swallows. Azurda watches him, torn between pride at Rex’s care and worry at what he had rescued.

The tainted half of the Aegis was on his back, and Azurda could do _nothing_ but watch. He stares a moment longer at his grandson, before Rex looks up at him, determination flaring in brown eyes.

“Gramps, light some fire under your fins - we need to get him to an infirmary, _now._ ” The snap of his young voice is strong, and despite wishing to pitch the tainted Aegis back into the sea, he obeys, turning himself around and heading straight for the guild.

Every so often, he turns his head back to see Rex, softly wiping the Aegis’s face clean with such deep worry that it prickles under his skin, makes him feel vaguely uncomfortable.

He could only hope his compliance with Rex’s command did not doom Alrest to the fate of another lost Titan…

When the last of the black sludge had disappeared, Rex firmly wiped the Aegis clean and put him to rest in his makeshift bed before scrubbing down the deck. “I’ll go get the transaction done,” he says, tone reluctant. “After that, I think we’ll stay here for a while, rent an inn for a few nights until he’s back on his feet.” His piece said, the boy lifts the box onto a waiting trolley. “Call if you hear anything?” He asks.

Azurda waffles with the response, but at his grandson’s increasingly anxious look, he caves, bows his head.

“I will call as soon as anything changes,” he promises reluctantly. Rex reaches out, small hand touching against his jawline, a smile on his face.

“Thanks Gramps. I knew I could count on you.” The boy says, briskly wheeling off in the next moment. Guilt suffuses him, and he turns his head back, despite knowing he could not see the Blade. Slowly, _cautiously_ , Azurda reaches with what is left of his powers as a Blade, seeks the connection between Blade and Driver that even now, kept him tEthered to life.

The core crystal pings, weak and fractured. Sympathy he does not want to feel wars with pragmatism of the need for this - the need to protect his grandson. It is not a simple matter to weave the frayed strands of his Ether into a shroud to conceal his connection with whatever Driver loosed him on the world, nor is it an easy one to contact the core itself to ascertain the damage done.

A bare thirty percent of his core intact. Had he any sympathy for the Blade, he might have wept for him. But he was a danger, one that Azurda did not trust, but neither one he could toss away.

Not while Rex held faith in him. Azurda grits his teeth and dives into the fray of the ruined Blade to salvage what he could before Rex returned.

_If you harm my grandson, Malos, I will rain fury upon you until I die,_ he vows.

* * *

He wakes to soft murmuring, a small hand in his hair. Whatever’s touching him is gentle, soft strokes of tiny nails over his scalp, reassuring and annoying in way too many ways for him to count. He can’t move, which sucked, but apparently, his caretaker was a competent one, props him up gently at the slightest change in his breathing patterns..

“Hey.” The voice makes his ears prick up. _Young._ The thought is critical. _Too young._ “I’m going to give you some water again. If you can swallow, do so. If not, I’ll massage it down.”

Fury rolls over his skin as quick as opalfire, the thought of him being unable to swallow without assistance -

Utterly true.

The muscles in his throat work weakly as he tries to ascertain his ability to move. The hand that strokes over his throat is infinitely gentle and patient, as though it was experienced in such matters. The caretaker could be male or female, for all he knew - but he’d bet it was a guy. The hand moves from his throat to his ribs, softly pressing over them as though to make sure he was still breathing.

Huh. Was he?

A deep breath confirmed that he had not, in fact, been breathing, as the spots in his darkness recede. The caretaker coaxes him gently through a few repetitions of breathing, the same small hand going through his hair and reassuring him.

“Get some more rest,” the boy says softly. “I’ll wake you soon for some broth.”

Annoyed yet comforted, the darkness slips around him and tugs him back under, washing him in peaceful silence.

* * *

Waking returns him to the awareness of dampness. Water surrounds him, warm as a mild summer breeze. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if it was cold. A damp rag is sliding up and down his chest, delicate care taken with the empty space his core would fill. It pulses along with his heartbeat.

_Failure,_ it taunts, when the caretaker cleanses the wound.

_Monster,_ it giggles, when warm water pours over his skin.

The touch returns to his forehead. “You’re being really brave right now,” they whisper encouragingly to him, and the pain of his heartbeat swirls away into the eddies. He wishes he could growl at the kindness, reject and burn it away, but whoever it is doesn’t wait for an answer, instead gently scrubbing his scalp before rinsing him clean.

He falls asleep again before the bath is even drained of water.

* * *

“Salvaging is a high-risk occupation that comes with many unique dangers...” The voice is back. It’s talking about _Salvagers,_ some sort of working class, he thinks. He’s not sure he knows anything about it, so he listens, breathes quietly as the voice speaks enthusiastically about the job, the risks and dangers, but the rewards.

“Nopon are usually the first to line up for salvaged goods, but given their frugality, it’s best to cultivate a working relationship with one Nopon in particular, as they dislike to give an equitable share of goods when it comes to paying Salvagers their due.” The tone trembles in annoyance at those words, and he wonders.

Does the caretaker suffer this kind of indignity? It prickles up his spine in flickers of annoyance, a flash of embers dashed against damp stone that hisses and pops in his mind. The voice keeps talking, and he settles down again to listen, pulls his temper from the brink.

Halfway through the signs of pressure-induced bruising and assorted maladies, he finds himself falling back to sleep, lulled by the easy flow of his caretaker’s voice.

* * *

When he finally opens his eyes, he’s in a room. The sunlight is filtering weakly through the sheer curtains, shimmering in sparkling patterns from the glass beads set in the curtains. Briefly, he spares a thought for his caretaker - for all he despised feeling helpless, his caretaker had been nothing but gentle, and for that, at least, he grudgingly owed them a thank you.

Sitting up is an exercise in patience. His limbs feel heavy, and his shoulders were weighted with stone. He’s frustrated, but there’s a feeling of accomplishment that fills him when he manages the small feat.

Which promptly annoys him. It’s a simple damned act, he shouldn’t feel so damn accomplished for it.

The door creaks open, their back facing him. Judging from the position of his arms, he was carrying something. The boy looks young - barely in his teens, if he had to guess.

Huh. He looked a little on the skinny side, for all the strength he must have had in those twiggy arms of his. His face is thin - malnourishment? Did he not eat enough, or just fast metabolism?

“Good morning!” the boy says enthusiastically, sets the elevated tray down in front of him. It’s stuffed to bursting with a variety of small jams and some thick, fruit-studded muffins. Butter is settled in a glass tureen, mixed with fragrant cinnamon.

His mouth waters. It smelled _divine,_ and he couldn't help the twitch of his fingers towards the starberry muffin. The boy chuckles, but instead of annoying him, it feels… nice. As though it was a shared inside joke rather than a mockery.

“I know, right?” The boy says, his warm tone making him look up. “I had to fight a few Nopon for the right to get some starberry muffins - they live in fear of me now,” he says with a snort of amusement. Somehow, that makes his lips twitch, even if everything seemed a bit unfamiliar and hazy. The boy splits a muffin for him. “So, I spoke to the healer earlier,” the boy is casual, but there’s no mistaking the worry in his tone. “She says that since your core suffered so much damage, it’ll take a while for your body to regain full mobility. It’s a bit tricky since she’d never encountered a Blade with so much damage, but she says once you’re up on your feet, you should start feeling better as your core adjusts to its new reserves.”

He follows along, watches the boy spread a thin whip of butter over the muffins, before smiling up at him. “I’m Rex,” the boy - Rex, he sternly reminds himself - says to him. “I don’t know what kind of jam you like, but if you want to try one before I put it on the muffin, I can give you a test sample.”

Indignance flares in him, and he has to bite his tongue almost hard enough to bleed. “...I can do it,” he mutters, embarrassed and annoyed at needing the aid. Rex’s smile is deeply understanding. The boy sets the muffin down, wipes his fingers clean before rubbing a reassuring hand up and down his arm.

“Okay,” he agrees. “It’s not too heavy, so I don’t think there should be an issue, but please, if it starts to hurt, tell me. Your Core Crystal doesn’t need more stress.” As if chiding, his crystal pulses in agreement, makes him wince.

“Uh… thanks,” he mumbles, embarrassed. To avoid that, he determinedly stares at the muffin. Rex sets the muffin in his hands, and he carefully lifts it. The fact that it hurts to move his arms is _really_ annoying, and it’s a relief when Rex, sensing his discomfort, goes back to briskly buttering his own muffin as though it was any other day. He takes a bite, and is rewarded with the burst of flavor as the berry is crushed between his teeth. The boy has picked up a raspberry muffin for himself, and upon seeing his curious look, offers to swap half of his muffin.

Seeing no downside, he accepts. They eat in companionable silence, and after a moment, Rex wipes his mouth with a napkin, offers him one. “You have a name?” Rex asks, brown eyes intrigued and warm.

He sets the napkin down, considers Rex. That was actually… a really damn good question. His eyes narrow and he thinks about it as he polishes off the first half of the food, and then cautiously spreads a bright green jam over the second half. A bite brings a subtle kick of spice and sweetness, and he decides that this one is his favorite.

“Malos,” he says at last. “My name is Malos.”


	2. Subtle Tales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malos gets to explore a little outside his normal comfort zone.

_ What the fuck. _

Malos stares at himself in the mirror for the first time since he had woken up, chest rising and falling in poorly-concealed panic. Gray eyes flicker over his features, take in the paleness of skin, the slightly-too visible ribs, the cracked - his eyes skitter away from the damage before they truly settle on what bothers him most.

The indecision of what to do is taken away from him when a knock on the door sounds, and he turns to face the brown-haired boy who had taken him in. Rex beams at him, and he scowls back at the child, gets an amused smile instead of the - in his opinion - more appropriate fear.

Rex’s smile dims at the sight of his skin, of the scars that ripple over his flesh like claws had torn him apart.

For all Malos fucking knew, that was probably the case. The edges of them still look fresh, glimmering a faint purple on the edges - signs he had been trying to heal himself long before he’d met Rex. The door snicks shut, and he’s startled back out of his thoughts. Rex is carrying an armful of clothing in his hands.

Malos scowls. “My armor is just fine,” he tells the boy, who raises an eyebrow at him. The boy gestures at it, and scowling deeper, he glances over at the hanging armor.

The large, gaping holes in it makes him wince, and he huffs under his breath. Fucking…  _ ruined. _ He could fix it, if it wasn’t for the fact that even the faintest  _ suggestion _ of using his power was firmly nixed by Rex and the damn woman who ran the infirmary.

He got it.

Didn’t make it any less fucking annoying. He liked the outfit, and he had to admit that Rex’s enthusiasm and perpetual good cheer was at least helping. Which annoyed him enough that his mood soured  _ again _ in spite of Rex’s attempts otherwise.

Malos huffs one more time, turns his attention to the clothes Rex had retrieved. He was well enough to walk in short bursts, and Rex had promised him a prime seat in the main thoroughfare of the Argentum Trade Guild, but with that was the main problem.

He had  _ no _ clothes aside from armor. Rex, being the sincere and helpful boy he was, had eagerly gone off in search of clothing to replace his armor for the time being. Malos didn’t know the boy all that well, but he determined early on that he was probably the kind of child to enjoy bright colors.

Had there been even a little regret when he slammed the door shut on Rex when the boy had attempted entry with bright yellow shirts?

No. Not really.

The boy had gotten the hint and had moved to darker colors instead, but it seemed every adult man with a lick of common sense and self-respect also preferred darker clothes, leaving him with a very small selection of clothing to actually accept wearing. It also didn’t help that he was taller than the average adult man, a side-effect of being a Blade and all. He huffs to himself and crosses his arms, refuses to acknowledge the self-consciousness that rears its head.

“I wasn’t able to get outright black clothes, but plum is a really dark purple and it matches?” the boy offers the shirt hopefully, and he accepts the fabric into his hands. There’s no decoration, just plain silver stitching around the hem in concession of vanity. It was simple enough, and he approves, accepts it to pull it over his head.

The leather is a much harder sell, the material too stiff to be comfortable, but given that it isn’t a good six inches short like the last pair, Malos decides to take what he can get.

“Thanks, kid,” he says reluctantly, and the boy beams at him, thrilled. The smile annoys him, and he cuffs the boy ‘round the head, receives an amused grin for his trouble.

“It’s Rex, Mal,” the boy reminds him warmly, and he twitches.

_ That _ was another thing. The kid kept calling him  _ Mal, _ like they were friends. Sure, the kid had saved his life. That did not make them friends. His heart nags at him, a hollow tug that makes a wash of pain flicker over his core. The feeling is gone as soon as it arises, and he changes dutifully into the pants, laces up the boots that he had agreed to. The faintest glow of his core is visible from under his shirt, and Rex, in the middle of offering him a jacket, pauses.

The boy hums thoughtfully, and Malos feels a prickle of alarm at his considering look.

“We can’t have an army of Nopon trying to poke your chest,” he decides firmly, before fetching a length of black bandage. “Shirt off,” Rex instructs firmly, and he gives the boy a stink eye. He’s  _ fine _ as he is, but at the insistent look and tapping of a booted foot, Malos sighs and concedes, allows the boy to gently wrap the bandages over his upper body until the glow is gone. He tries again, and this time the glow doesn’t seep through.

Paradoxically, hiding the glow was actually more reassuring than it being seen, and he can’t help but feel irked yet again.

“Anyone ever told you that you’re annoying as fuck?” He asks. The boy’s bright beam dims slightly. Malos’s eye twitches. “You should open a shop,” he continues blithely, and the boy stares at him in confusion. “All those Nopon would be outta business if you were a shopkeep and not a salvager.” The dimming reverses and he beams like the sun.

Malos twitches again.  _ Why does the opinion of some snot-nosed kid  _ matter _ to me? _ He thinks to himself caustically, shrugs on the jacket. It’s a perfect fit, and he finds himself having to take a seat, dizzy from the abrupt movement. Rex immediately scurries off to get him a glass of water, and he swallows a mouthful when the cup is tilted to his lips.

Gratefulness fills him, followed quickly by annoyance. He should have been  _ fine. _ He’d only been standing for ten minutes,  _ if _ that. He huffs under his breath, waits until the world stops spinning. At least, Rex doesn’t try to offer a hand out, knows how much he can push Malos’s pride before it breaks.

(That doesn’t stop him from gently moving aside the door and making sure the path remained clear for him, a silent support that Malos appreciated, even if he didn’t say anything to that effect.)

The curtains rustle, and Malos watches a departing bird with a slight headache before leaving the room.

Rex at least was right - the view from the second floor was  _ lovely. _

* * *

A frost-blue curl pops free of her tightly-wound bun. With a sigh, she ignores it, the curl not in her way of observing the young Salvager and his acquired Blade.

Malos, the Aegis of Destruction.

Not that one would suspect his true nature given how gingerly he sat down, fussed over by Rex. His expression was set in a perpetual scowl, though it lightened notably when a muffin was offered to him, freshly baked from the kitchens. The dark head shakes, and whatever he says makes Rex beam and laugh. This high up, she could not hear it, but his radiant joy is visible to her.

The flutter of wings barely turns her attention. “He has been lonely these many years.” The raven flutters his feathers, preens one to make sure they align properly. “His joy towards his  _ Mal _ is more hope for a friend than you predicted.”

Angela hums softly. “I question the wisdom of allowing the Aegis of Destruction near a child,” she muses quietly. “Rex is a generous and kind soul, but surely… It’s worrying.” The bird flutters up to her shoulder, preens her hair.

“You once told me that we are all products of our environment, that the choices we make are shaped by the experiences we have been inflicted. He is no different.” Another tug to her hair, and more curls pop out of her bun. She gives him an annoyed look, and the Blade pretends innocence at his Driver. “Give him a chance to be more than a weapon of war. Perhaps he will surprise you.” Angela sighs, nails scratching underneath a chin in gentle, friendly concession.

“If he shows even a hint of acting like his former self, I will deal with him,” Angela says firmly. The raven does not chastise her for her recentience. The bird’s spectral feathers flutter again, before preening her hair and tucking it behind an ear.

“I would expect nothing else,” XII tells her fondly. “Allow him to live with a kinder soul than he has been exposed to. Perhaps he will surprise you.” A sigh leaves her lips.

“I will for now,” she agrees reluctantly. They watch in silence as Malos cuffs Rex lightly over the head for some misdemeanor or other, causing the boy to laugh. The Aegis’s expression remained a scowl, but when the boy turned away, a slight smile curls up his lips. It quickly disappears, but it’s there.

That is more than enough proof for Angela, and her fingers stroke the braided red necklace she always wore.

“I will fetch Rex in an hour or so. Bana must  _ not _ know who Rex has salvaged. Already, I would bet that he has been informed that Rex has discovered a blade from the Cloud Sea.” Angela’s eyes close.

Rex was a Salvager - if anyone could rescue Malos from himself, it would be him. And if he could not…

Angela would ensure what happened to Milton never happened to anyone else. It was the least she could do.

* * *

Being dragged around like an oversized Nopon reluctant to sell their wares was considerably more annoying than he anticipated. The fact that it was Rex doing the dragging either made things more tolerable or less, he wasn’t yet sure.

Malos however, was  _ absolutely _ unsure of what he was supposed to think about his - Driver? Was Rex even that? There was definitely some sort of bond between them. Malos doesn’t question it further, waits until Rex has entered the room proper, digging around for something.

“You gonna tell me why you’re dragging me around like a Nopon that can’t be trusted with tasty sausage?” He asks dryly, watches as the boy hefts a large bag up into his arms.

“Well, the healer that I told you about, Healer Angela, right?” Malos scowls slightly, but agrees reluctantly to Rex’s words. “She and Gramps are worried about what the Guildmaster would do if he found out about you.” Rex’s voice is muffled again as he digs into the bag.

His eyebrow twitches. “And  _ who _ is the guildmaster?” Malos prompts, annoyed. Rex’s head pops up, and an embarrassed blush curls over his skin. Malos’s lips twitch in amusement, but he forces it down - the kid did  _ not _ need encouragement to act like a pushy puppy.

“Oh - uh, he calls himself Chairman, but he’s technically the Guildmaster of the building...” Malos’s glare narrows, and Rex winces. “Right, answers,” he mutters in embarrassment. “His name’s Bana - he’s a Nopon and he’s actually pretty nice, at least, I think so. I’ve never had a bad deal from him, and most of his closest associates say the same.” Rex shrugs, puts the bag down after retrieving a smaller, but no less decently-sized bag full of what sounded like stones.

“You’re too trusting,” Malos says bluntly.

The bright beam dims.

Unlike before, this one he faces head on, refuses to quail beneath the disappointed stare. “Believing in people is all well and good, but  _ people  _ aren’t born good. They’re deceitful, greedy, and if they think they can get something out of you, they will.” He looks up from where he is staring at the boy’s hands, pulls up short at the sight of tearful brown eyes. Despite his discomfort, he plows on. “There’s no point to trusting someone until you really know who they are in the dark.”

He’d been forced to look away by the force of the boy’s gaze, and a sniff brings him back to Rex. The boy’s hands close around one of his, and he’s given the sight of Rex, bright tears threatening to spill.

“Your old Driver was a really  _ bad _ person, weren’t they?” His voice wobbles like a toy boat in a sink, and Malos swallows uncomfortably, caught. The boy’s hands gently hold his, and for a moment, Malos can  _ feel _ how truly distraught the boy is for him. The moment is washed away in a heartbeat, but it fills him with a profound sense of loss when it’s gone.

Rex’s hands squeeze his own. “Don’t worry,” the boy insists firmly. “You’re here now, and I’ll do my best to take care of you.”

Despite his disbelief, his disdain for the pushy boy, and his lack of trust in  _ Drivers _ in general, something told him that Rex would not disappoint.

* * *

Rex had only rarely been in the medical offices, preferring to lick his wounds in private aboard Gramps’ back and deal with the gentle chiding of Gramps than the dispassionate criticism of  _ strangers. _ But Healer Angela was nice. She’d gotten him all of his medical needs taken care of back when he was first starting out, which was great! And she’d helped him out one year when Gramps had gotten a bad cough Rex had been  _ sure _ would do him in.

But even with all that, he’d never been in her office. She preferred to be out and about, a travelling healer who cared for patients outside of the confines of the Argentum Trader’s Guild. All of her visits to him had been house calls on Gramps, in concession to his never-ending work.

To see her office, he would have mistaken it for a part of the library. Angela is seated primly in her spot, expression politely neutral.

“Take a seat,” Angela says with a polite smile, Rex scrambling to make sure Malos was comfortable. Malos gives him an unimpressed look, and he grins sheepishly, accepts the cuff to his head as it’s due. The healer looked vaguely amused by the byplay, but the solid, assessing look she gave Mal was… a little worrying. “Do you have them?” She asks, and Rex lifts the bag up, places it on the table between them.

He huffs a little, embarrassed. “I thought they were gemstones,” he says apologetically to a baffled Mal, who eyes him up and down. Mal huffs, but there’s no heat. Rex sets them out on the table quickly, notices how Mal stiffens at the sight, but says nothing. The largest of them was large enough to fit in Mal’s palm, settling comfortably. It hums, a feeling of rightness, completion, and  _ safety. _

Mal sets that one closer, and Rex notices the sharp look Angela gave him for it. “You found these with me?” He says, tone cautious, and Rex lightens when he realizes that he isn’t mad - just a weary sort of caution in him.

“Yeah - I was looking for some silver for the Argentum Silversmith Guild, and I saw the crystals glowing in the distance,” Rex admits shyly, when Angela eyes the wide array. “And well, I’d heard about luminous crystals being a popular thing with the Indolesian trading guilds, so I went and had a look.” Rex peeks over at Mal, and finds himself relieved to see the man looked more amused than anything.

“So you’re saying that you thought I was a  _ shiny rock?” _

Oh yeah. Definitely amused. Rex blushes. “I’m a Salvager! I live for shiny things,” he splutters. Mal snorts at him, but there’s no heat, and the boy feels a wash of relief, beams up at him. Mal’s hand flicks his ear, and he squeaks, not hurt, but content to pretend it. “It’s really not my fault you can create glowy rocks on command,” he whines, and he feels the pat of a hand on his head.

Malos snorts. “You’re cute, kid,” he says the words with exasperated amusement, before eyeing the healer with no small hesitation. “So, you’re Angela.” His tone was deeply skeptical of her, and embarrassed, Rex nudges him with an elbow. Mal gives him an unimpressed look for the attempt at chastisement, plows on determinedly. “How do we know you’re not reporting to this Nopon?” He asks frankly, and Rex gapes at him.

_ Rude. _

At least Healer Angela looked amused.

* * *

“I doubt a word I can say will reassure you as to my intentions,” Angela says dryly. Malos really was still the same suspicious, paranoid bastard she remembered. “The only thing I can point to is Rex’s companion - the Titan who helps him aid in his livelihood. He can speak to my loyalties.” Her eyes narrow slightly, but she eases up before Rex can notice like the perceptive little bugger he is.

Her smiles softens when she sees Malos consider her words visibly. He eyes her, as though she was a particularly dangerous weapon.

_ Oh, if only you knew Malos, _ she thinks in dry amusement.

“I’ll believe you for now,” Malos huffs, and Rex elbows him again. “What? I don’t know her. I don’t trust her until she puts her money where her mouth is.” Blunt as always, Angela noted, smiling at him in amusement.

“It’s fine, Rex. The world isn’t always black and white, and he has a right to be suspicious. A broken core crystal is nothing to sneeze at.” She smiles wryly at his suspicious glare. “All the same - we should get this done quickly, before news of your lack of core crystal comes out. These crystals, while not your core, should aid in your ability to repair yourself over time.” Angela waits for Malos to eye her, before he heaves a sigh of defeat.

“You’d do this regardless,” he decides dryly, “might as well be with my input.” Rex beams at his concession, clearly pleased.

Angela merely hums. “Rex - be a dear and grab the tools from the front desk - I had one of the Blades on staff find me a core crystal repair kit. Please pick it up. She is both discrete and efficient.” Rex, sweet boy he is, takes the hint and scarpers. Malos watches him go, expression unreadable even to her. “I will make this clear once, and  _ only _ once,” she says bluntly once the door is sealed shut, “Rex is a good kid. If you do something to harm him, his heart or soul, I will find you and  _ end _ you.” Her tone is dark and borders on vicious - but she doesn’t care. She’s seen his power for herself - and she would not allow him to become another nightmare under her care.

Malos snorts after a long moment of held silence. “The brat’s really wormed into your good graces, huh?” He looked amused, and the way his head tilted showed at least a little respect. He chuckles slightly. “Don’t worry. I don’t intend on doing anything. Kid saved my life - least I can do is keep an eye out for him.”

Angela eyes him. He sounded sincere, but only time would tell her what would become of him.


	3. Contrast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malos is a Blade with a lot of pride. Rex is a human with a streak of stubbornness sixteen kilometers wide. They're going to come into conflict eventually.

He was getting better. Malos fingers the false core crystal as it glows and glitters at him, a brilliant hemisphere of complex, faceted crystal.

It hadn’t taken long for Rex to carve it for him, a thought that unsettled him nearly as much as it pleased him. Rex had a natural hand for delicate tasks, and after some nudging from Malos, he’d been able to shape it to the exact weave of crystals to allow it to reflect light in a flickering pattern of flames. He touches it again, before reaching for the jacket he’d draped over a chair, tugging it on.

Rex was off working. He’d offered to go with the boy, but truly, the idea of being near the Cloud Sea had made him nauseous just thinking about it. Rex had hugged him and told him it was okay, that he could take his time with it and join him when he was ready. When he would  _ be _ ready was another thing entirely.

Malos sighs.

Turning, Malos looks around the room. Rex hadn’t mentioned how much this was costing him, but room and board on the most  _ prolific _ trading guild in all of Alrest could not be cheap. A glitter of violet sparkles at him, and he turns his attention to the large crystal that had caught his attention back in Angela’s office. He strides over, picks it up. The glow was brightest in this one, a soft, reassuring warmth. Malos pockets it, expression pensive.

Rex was working long hours, leaving at the first hint of sunlight and returning only barely at sunset. The fact that it was for  _ him _ was not missed, and Malos was not pleased that his… Driver… was taking such extreme lengths to provide for him.

So instead of going to the library, he heads off to the market. Someone had to have a job available for a Blade. Almost idly, he snags the bag of crystals Rex had left for him. Maybe these would come in handy.

* * *

Tora was an unhappy Nopon. Poppi was almost done, but Tora lacked a critical piece for her completion! The Nopon grumbles to himself, grumpily scanning the individual market for more supplies. Most of his money had gone into other upgrades, but a distribution cell was far too expensive for Tora! He had to sell some old scraps for extra cash, and while he had plenty of coin, it would not be e...nough.

_ Easy mark spotted! _

Tora scurries over to the dark-haired man who is keeping an eye on a Nopon’s wares. Tora had seen many shopkeeps hire stupid Blades and humans to mind their shop. Stupid Blades and humans sell wares for less than Nopon value, owe Nopon debt, and pay debt off with free labor!

Tora would  _ oblige _ fellow Nopon for cheap parts! He scuttles over, and the tired-looking Blade eyes him.

“What are you looking for?” His voice is a silky baritone, with a faint hint of disdain that any Nopon would envy. He is handsome, leading man quality for a theater full of women to swoon over, but Tora is not impressed!

… Tora is a little impressed.

“T-Tora is looking for power distribution cell!” The Nopon declares regally, flaps his head-wings. “Tora has found no good wares for equitable distribution of Ether!” For adorable emphasis, he stomps a tiny foot and flaps his head-wings again.

The man looks exceedingly amused. “You got a size in mind? Shape, structure? Surely a distribution cell should be fairly symmetrical, yes?” Tora uses his wing-hand to rub under his mouth, thoughtful.

“Steady output and equitable distribution to be ideal for Tora’s idea!” he agrees, watches the Blade dig into a pouch on the side.

“You won’t get a distribution cell from these wares,” the foolish, foolish Blade says dryly. “These are battery cells.” Ha! Blade think he know better than Tora! Tora would show him!

A brief scan however, deflates his ego. Nasty Blade unfortunately was correct. Tora would  _ not _ be able to use any of these for Poppi! He growls in annoyance under his breath. Stupid Blade.

The sparkle of a glittering, faintly reddish-purple hue catches his eyes. Oooh. What  _ was _ that shiny crystal? An attempt to grab it finds Tora empty-handed, the Blade’s lips twitching at his obvious interest. Slowly, the Blade turns it around.

It’s hollow, rounded-edged diamond holes perfectly spaced around the cylinder, with enough face to fit in a tiny Ether absorption pump, and with plenty of places to funnel out distribution wires.

Tora tries desperately not to drool. Cocky Blade smirks at Tora, and Tora fumes internally.

He twirls it lightly on a finger, before quipping, “I think we have a winner.” The diamond-patterned crystal glows softly, temptingly, even as it dances around his fingers, pretty as the proverbial portrait.

“Tora is willing to pay ten thousand G!” He declares imperiously, and the handsome Blade  _ snorts _ at Tora! Like Tora is fool Littlepon!

“For something like this? A flawless gem structure, perfect Ether flow, and spectacular aesthetic function? Do you think I’m stupid?” Blade counters without even flinching. “I won’t take a sale for less than seventy-five thousand G.”

Tora gapes. “That is purse-cutting! Thievery!” He wails, flaps his head-wings up and down. “No! Tora would not allow such theft of Tora’s money! It is not worth nearly so much! Twenty thousand G!” He stomps a tiny foot, glares.

The Blade has the audacity to look even  _ more _ amused, as though Tora was but a fool! “Eighty thousand,” he says bluntly, and Tora stares at him in disbelief.

Did… Did Blade not know the art of haggling?

“I can raise the price of this all day,” the cocky Blade says boredly. “You think you’ll find a proper Ether distribution cell for anything less than seventy-five thousand G anywhere then you’ll be a damned fool. Or it’ll blow up in your face. Don’t treat me like one of your Littlepons. I don’t have the patience for it.”

Tora fumes further, but at the look on his face, the Blade rolls his eyes.

“Ninety thousand G.” He says boredly. “I can keep going...” That moves Tora into action, and he scoffs.

“No Nopon, human, or Gormotti would accept such robbery!” The Nopon declares, and the Blade rolls his eyes again.

“Oi!” he hollers across the stall, where a nosy human is trying not to smile, and a Gormotti is ignoring all politeness and staring outright at them with a smirk. “You guys think ninety-thousand G is a good deal on a distribution core?” He asks them, and the Gormotti woman hums, puts a finger to her lips.

“I’d like a demonstration, but I could definitely use one for the Titan ship I help maintain,” she agrees. In response, the Blade grasps it between both hands.

Light flickers, starts off a pretty purple before turning an intense pink, heat and light swirling around in delicate patterns.

Tora could see when her expression went from amused to genuinely thoughtful, and immediately chips in, panicking. The display had shown why it would be  _ perfect _ for Poppi! Refinement! Elegance! Only Poppi could have such magnificence!

“Fifty thousand G!” He wails, and the Blade eyes him with a devilish smirk.

“Hmm. eighty-five thousand,” he says, amused. Tora wilts inside, but goes higher.

“Fifty-eight thousand!” He whimpers. Blade’s smirk widens.

“Seventy-seven.”

Oooh, Blade was  _ taunting _ him! Tora wilts further.

“Tora pay sixty-four thousand and not one G more.” The Blade eyes him.

“Seventy thousand G. Take it or leave it.”

Tora’s eyes water, but the accursed Blade only looks more amused.

Oh the  _ shame. _ Dadapon and Grampypon would be rolling in their graves if they could see Tora now - spending all his savings on pretty Ether cell.

“Tora agrees...” he whimpers. After a moment of silence, the Blade nods briskly.

“Alright then,” he says without heat. “Seventy thousand G, upfront if you please.” The Nopon wilts further, before counting his precious savings away. “I’ll knock off five hundred G if you’ve got something to wrap this up in.” he says, and Tora hastily produces a cloth.

Five hundred G would at least get Tora home, he thinks… the Blade wraps up the cell with careful ease, takes the money first before handing the precious parcel over. Tora clutches it tightly.

“Tora must know Blade’s name!” Tora declares once the transaction is over, and the Blade considers him in silence. His lips twist into a faint frown, before finally, he speaks.

“Mal. You can call me Mal.”

Tora reaches a little wing-hand out and shakes it once.

“Tora will remember Mal! As Blade who bested Nopon! Tora will be victorious should Tora and Mal cross paths once again! Beware stepping into Gormott!” He says regally, and the Blade grins, a warm, light expression.

“I’ll look forward to it,” Mal chuckles, warm and friendly.

Tora scuttles off. He would best Mal next time, he vows with a clenched wing-hand. Nopon honor demanded it.

* * *

“ _ Thief! _ ”

The Nopon’s cry makes Malos’s amusement sour immediately. He turns to face the Nopon he’d been wares-sitting for. The pale-furred Nopon storms closer. “Selling wares without permission!” It splutters at him in indignation. “Thieving Blade was to be  _ watching _ wares, not stealing by selling for less than -''

Malos holds up a hand and the Nopon zips it, senses the danger in his mild-seeming expression.

“Let’s make this clear. I sold  _ none _ of your wares. Not one  _ G _ of it. I didn’t even use your wrapping paper. Second, you never specified that I couldn’t sell my  _ own _ wares,” he snaps the words sharply in annoyance.

“You used Kiki’s stall!” the creature screeches indignantly.

“Ah, but there’s no permits required. It’s only for anyone who is here. That’s why it’s a market  _ floor, _ not a market rental. There’s no specific requirement for who uses a stall, only that it’s occupied or you lose your place. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?” He says bluntly. “You never specified that I could not sell my own wares.”

Kiki splutters again. “But sale was made at Kiki’s stall! Kiki deserves profits!”

“And the guild belongs to Bana. Would you turn all your profits to him?” He waits until she blanches before continuing. “I didn’t think so. My profits of my own wares are my own.” He stands up, exaggerates offering her the seat. “Enjoy your  _ stall,”  _ he says mockingly.

“Now, my payment, if you would. I fulfilled my terms of the agreement,” Malos adds, to the Nopon’s obvious disbelief. She wailed and tugged her braids, whined and complained, but in the end, she’d made the deal with him in front of witnesses, and was forced to honor her end of the bargain.

Smug, Malos walks out.

The rest had done him some good. When he’d started, he’d been dizzy from wandering around and looking for a job. The Nopon had thought him  _ stupid, _ but he’d been very careful, even as dizzy as he’d been, to make sure to agree to specific terms that wouldn’t cost him anything if he decided to get himself a little spending cash.

He’s somehow both surprised and not to see Angela there, eyeing him with a faintly displeased air.

“I hope you got what you wanted,” she says dryly. Malos looks back at the market - the curious faces filled with a glimmer of respect, and feels the G in his bag, ready to give to Rex.

“I got what I needed,” he says bluntly. “Breathing room. Rex’ll be back soon, yeah?” He asks.

Angela eyes him in curiosity. “Yes. He’ll be back soon.”

Malos nods briskly. “Great. Maybe this’ll give him some downtime. I’m pretty sure it’s safe to say he doesn’t normally work so much.”

Her expression turns odd, then approving. “You did this for him?” She says lightly, and he gives her a sharp look. “Perhaps you’re not as cold as you like to act,” Angela tells him with a slight smile. Her hand pats his cheek. “Rex will not be happy,” she warns him. “He’s an independent boy - he’s never had someone to help him before.”

Malos feels a little odd at that. A pervasive feeling sinks into him, and he feels his actual core crystal tug as though with a faint, phantom pain.

“He’s my Driver now.” Malos says simply. “He’ll have to get used to it.”

Angela’s smile widens, and he wonders if he’ll ever understand that confounded woman.

* * *

Uuuugh.

Rex’s spine hurt, his lungs hurt, and hell, his  _ legs _ hurt. He’d never done so much salvaging in his life. Not even when he was just starting out, learning the trade and trying to make enough so he and Gramps wouldn’t starve.

“You’ve got enough money Rex - take a few days to rest.” Gramps sounds worried, and Rex tries for a bright smile, only manages a weak one. “Fonsett will keep for several months on the bounty you sent along, and surely Mal will not require as much intensive care as you were paying for before.”

Rex gives a weak groan, rubs his bruised arms to get some warmth to them. “Yeah, maybe.” Nice as she was, Healer Angela was no cheapskate when it came to bills. He drags himself out of his little house, and blinks when he realizes who is waiting for him.

Mal.

The Blade lifts a hand in greeting towards Gramps, visibly uncomfortable by being so close to the sea. Rex feels lighter with his friend around, happily scrambles out with his wares. It takes him longer than usual, and Mal takes it from him, hefts it.

“You look worse off than me,” he says uncomfortably, and Rex is reminded of Mal’s discomfort with the Cloud Sea when the foam of the clouds brushes over their feet and he stiffens.

Wisely, Rex doesn’t push, instead trudges up to the room he’d rented for Mal, the two entering the room in near silence.

Rex pulls up short. Mal has to stop on a G to avoid running into his back, and when he realizes, Rex flushes, mutters a hasty apology as he enters properly.

Money. There’s a bag full of it sitting on the night-table. He turns his attention to Mal, who eyes him back, before setting down the supply of scrap.

“You should lay down,” he says without explaining a thing. Rex glares at him, and Mal meets his glare evenly. “ _ Bed, _ Rex,” the Blade says impatiently, nudging and pushing him towards it until he was sitting.

Yeesh. Pushy. He grumbles his way through pulling off his boots and salvager gear, allowing Mal to be fussy and annoyed because honestly? As much as Mal protested that he was not  _ nice, _ these little signs showed that he was pretty much  _ all _ talk in that regard. Mal was way nicer than he liked to admit he was. Rex slumps against the bed, exhausted. Mal is fussing with the salvage, but Rex is too tired to pay much attention to him and ignores it for the time being, content to let Mal fuss so long as he could get some  _ Architect-damned  _ sleep. A warmth blooms along his side long after his eyes have closed, and he sighs in bliss, leans in towards it.

Mal’s growly voice was the last thing he heard before falling asleep.

Waking up is blissfully warm, heat all over his body and comforting. His aches and pains are eased, as though someone had taken the time to massage him. Mal, probably, Rex thinks sleepily, burrows closer to the warmth. An annoyed sigh graces his ears.

“I know you can hear me,” Mal tells him, and Rex hums, sleepy and content. “You don’t get to leave for at least another hour - the ointment Angela gave me needs to work.” Rex hums again.

“Mmph? Ointment?” he asks.

Mal snorts slightly. “Your muscles are strained. Angela traded me an hour of poking at my Core Crystal for it.”

Rex cracks open his eyes, squints up at Mal suspiciously.

“What’d you do?” he asks, sitting up suspiciously. Mal groans in annoyance. “You said she poked at your Core Crystal, which she hasn’t done for a week!”

“It wasn’t anything big,” he groans in complaint, and Rex hits his shoulder, sitting up and feeling his muscles protest the action. “Wha- lie  _ down, _ you brat,” he grumbles, and Rex doesn’t do that.

Rex instead pokes a finger into his chest.

“What. Did. You. Do.” He growls in annoyance.

Mal splutters at him, indignant. “I did some trading! Seriously, that is not so strenuous,” he complains, and Rex feels his heart stutter to a stop.

“Trading?” His voice is high - upset, and Mal winces at his tone. “Nopon are greedy and restless and Architect above, they’re always,  _ always _ making people run around! There is  _ no _ way that you got that much gold just by sitting down!”

Rex isn’t entirely sure when he stood up. Somewhere in between then, he’d planned on pacing, he thinks. On maybe waving his hands.

But nope. He’s standing. He’s on his feet and he’s upset -  _ really _ upset.

“Dammit kid, I’m not a baby! I know my limits well enough!” Malos snaps, and Rex fumes, angry.

“You’re  _ recovering! _ Healer Angela said at  _ least _ four weeks of bed rest, and it’s barely two!” Rex snarls back, pulls Malos up short.

“I can’t sit around and do nothing! I’m going mad just sitting here or in the library or staring at the sea all day! And newsflash, kid, with no job, that’s  _ all I damn well end up doing! _ It’s boring! It’s fucking annoying and impossible and utterly  _ useless _ to me!” Malos snaps, stands up himself.

Rex’s heart pulls. “Useless,” he echos, feels dumb for it.

“Yes! Useless! I’m sitting around like some bitch waiting for her man, and sorry, but it’s not cutting it! You’re treating me like a plastic  _ toy _ and I’m not!” Malos snarls, annoyance mounting. “Putting me in a glass box and setting me in a room like I’m as pretty as a picture doesn’t  _ do _ anything but satisfy your ego!”

That… that hurts.

“I don’t want you to be hurt,” Rex says weakly. “Especially since you’re still recovering.”

Malos snorts, and that hurts even worse. Malos didn’t  _ believe _ him.

“Oh yeah, is that why you keep me away from everyone? You don’t call me by name, you hide me away like you’re  _ ashamed _ of what the fuck you’re doing, I might as well be a pet you haven’t trained!” Malos’s hands fling up, and he settles his hands on his hips. “That’s all I am for you, isn’t it? A convenient toy? I’m  _ not _ your toy!”

“I don’t want you to be a toy!” Rex’s anger flares immediately at the last line - his feelings on the subject were… mixed, but this one he felt keenly himself, and he wouldn’t let Malos think that. Rex stabs a finger into his chest, all thoughts of tears fading away. “I get it! I hate being on bed rest! I hate sitting on my hands, or being bored, or thinking that I can be  _ useful _ sooner!” Another hard push of his finger against a chest, and Malos steps back, startled.

“I want you to be  _ safe! _ ” He yells the word, sways a little from it. “I want you to feel better, and be careful so that you don’t get injured and break your crystal  _ more! _ ” He stomps a foot. “Don’t you get it? If it breaks more you’ll  _ die! _ I don’t want you to die, okay!”

“Kid...” Malos’s expression is torn between weariness and confusion. Rex slaps his hand aside.

“But fine! Do whatever you want! Go and break your Core Crystal for all the  _ good _ it’ll do you!” He stomps over to the door and yanks it open, the door slamming shut behind him.

Tch. All talk? More like Malos really  _ was  _ a jerk, and he’d just been pretending to be nice. He gets a moment of startled pain as the world spins around him, adrenaline surging forth and washing over him in an inky black.

The last thing he hears is a door slamming open.

* * *

_ Shit. _ Malos manages to catch the kid before he topples arse over teakettle off the balcony, but it was a near thing. And he’s  _ light. _ Too light to be anything but overworked and underfed.

Even then, it was a fight to carry the kid back to the room. His arms hurt, and he eases the door shut behind him, something like guilt gnawing at his chest. He’d never thought something so  _ simple _ would have sparked an argument so intense. It takes him more force than he thought to successfully lay the kid out on the bed.

It winds him, and he’s left swaying on his feet from the dizziness. He leans against the bedframe, but first… Things needed to be done. He manages to clean the room up a bit, set the wares out and examine them, scribble a price and a negotiating amount for each.

His eyes feel heavy, his head hurts, but he’d finish this. He was not going to  _ quit _ until he was done. It feels like forever before he manages to turn his eyes away from the paper, pen set down as he wearily stands and makes his way over to Rex. The kid’s face is scrunched in sleep, fingers twitching restlessly, frown as he murmurs in sleep. Guilt prickles over his skin.

His thoughtlessness had hurt the same kid he’d been trying to help. His  _ Driver, _ who had been nothing but kind. The kid had just… been way too nice, too thoughtful, to  _ considerate, _ and it had twigged all of his senses in the wrong way. To see him so upset had pulled on their bond, had made him upset for his Driver, because he was unable to fulfil his duty.

And that annoyed him. The kid was human. Irrevocably human. Like everything and  _ everyone _ else, he’d fall and become just another greedy bastard, unable to see how his rampant, ridiculous control over a Blade had led to naught but ruin.

So why the  _ hell _ did he care so much? Malos growls under his breath, annoyed and angry and sad all at once.

The boy had proven him wrong. Hell, he’d done that a  _ dozen _ times over in the conversation they’d had alone. Memory of the fight makes his stomach gnaw at him guiltily. Architect be damned, he wouldn’t let his life be dictated by -

By  _ what? _

The thought leaves him floundering, and he slumps over the desk, exhausted and frustrated and  _ tired _ in a way that couldn’t be described by mere weakness alone. He hauls himself up, staggers to the bed with intent to lay down, rest his eyes for just a moment.

He’d be up before the brat, surely, he thinks, and the thought follows him into sleep.

* * *

Rain pours down from above. He jolts in confusion - he had been  _ indoors _ before, hadn’t he? Even so, the pouring rain soaks him, bone-chilling in a way a dream could not be.

The land was heavenly and plentiful, lush greenery and vividly blooming flowers, native animals of a kind he distantly remembered and hauntingly glorious as though the world itself was reveling in the joy of being alive.

All he had read of the lands in Alrest did not describe a land such as this.

“Of course they wouldn’t.”

Malos turns.

White hair, bright as the Cloud Sea in summertime, dark skin, purple clothing. She faces him, but by the visor, it’s difficult to tell if she is actually looking at him or not.

“Who are you?” He asks, and the woman’s grin is a sharp, sarcastic thing.

“I am a you of another reality.” She says simply. “I lived elsewhere, in a lush land of plenty, from where I sought to lay waste to all of humanity.” The woman turns away from him, observes the lush lands around them. “My time on Alrest has shown me more - that humans are many things. That they are hateful and loving, that they are kind and merciless, a duality that we often do not get to express.” Her expression fills with a sort of odd, wistful fondness.

“Many of my Drivers have taught me that my existence need not all be destruction.” She turns to face him, and he’s struck by the compassion in her gaze.

“Allow Rex to try the same for you,” she says sympathetically. “Perhaps he will prove to you at long last that humanity is worthy of your mercy.”

The rain grows thicker, and when it thins down, the woman is gone, nothing but the rain left on his skin.

Malos thinks long on her words before the darkness of the oncoming storm sweeps him away completely.

“I’ll try,” he tells the sky honestly, quietly.


	4. Agreement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rex and Malos come to an understanding, Bana makes it back, and Azurda's a stubborn old Titan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Bana losing this argument has reasons - mostly for plot relevance, but also a minor comeuppance.

Rex wakes to a lean figure pressed against his back. Unlike before, there is no constraint in the arm draped over his waist, nor is there more than a gentle warmth against his back, soft lips pressed against the back of Rex’s neck as his slumbering bedmate snoozes, breath blowing out in soft, gentle puffs over his skin.

Rex’s hand inches down to loosely grasp Mal’s own hand, his anger abated for the time being, shifted to faint confusion. They’d left angry at one another, Mal speaking spiteful words - nearly hateful. Yet here he laid, ensconced in his arms as though the argument had never once happened. It was far too vivid to be a dream, and so he had no choice but to believe that it had in fact happened, and that he had argued with Mal, despite his kinder actions proving that no matter the argument, he  _ did _ care to some degree.

When he tries to move, the hand he was holding twitches; draws him close with a sleepy whine of complaint from soft lips. Rex can’t help the smile that comes to his face. Mal nuzzles his neck, before he wakes, sleepy and grouchy.

“Morning,” Rex tries, wonders if speaking will make Mal mad at him again. A deep hum leaves Mal’s chest.

“Morning,” he greets back, voice thick with sleep. The silence grows to a pregnant pause, discomfiting him deeply before the Blade tugs him closer. “M’sorry.” The voice is quietly apologetic, and Rex blinks, taken aback.

“W-what for?” He’s not sure what reason Mal would be apologizing for. For being reckless? Endangering his health? Hell, maybe even yelling at him? Who knows with the Blade.

“For accusing you of keeping me locked up.” Mal says the words after a long,  _ long _ silence. “I don’t remember much… but I remember being used… and being locked away until I was useful.” Mal’s head ducks back against his neck. “It’s not an excuse… but I’m sorry.”

Rex is quiet.

Mal was a Blade with a  _ lot _ of pride. Healer Angela had taken him aside and said that Malos wasn’t used to being treated well, and that his pride was one of his weak points. Rex had known that getting Mal to not be so pessimistic would take a lot of work, but he hadn’t realized how  _ much _ work it would be.

The fight had hit home for that. He squeezes Mal’s hand just to let him know he was still thinking, and not ignoring him outright.

“Why’d you do it?” he asks at last. Rex hadn’t listened last time, when Mal tried to talk to him, and they’d gotten into a fight over it. Mal’s hand twists, and the boy finds himself holding hands with the Blade. It’s kinda nice, actually. A thumb lightly rubs over his skin.

“You’re coming back with bruises,” Mal says. Rex blinks. What did bruises have anything to do with it, he wonders silently to himself. “I don’t know much about being a Salvager, but I read about it when I can - when I’m not trying to read up on history, I guess.” Mal shrugs sheepishly, and Rex smiles a little. People didn’t usually read up on salvaging for a  _ hobby. _ “I read about what happens to Salvagers that work too much. They said unusual bruises were a sign of too many dives done in a short time.” Embarrassment colors the Blade’s tone in his next words. “I was worried that you were working too much,” he admits sheepishly. Rex blinks - huffs a little laugh.

“Sorry, sorry,” he laughs a little more when Mal scowls into his neck. “I know what you mean - I used to get that all the time, but I promise, this one wasn’t from that. I banged my arm while trying to repair my depth probe,” he explains. Mal settles, pacified for the moment. “I know what condition you’re talking about. I used to get it all the time, starting out, and I got lucky that I didn’t pass out during a dive,” Rex says, squeezes Mal’s hand when the Blade startles at the idea. “I’ve gotten better at judging my limits, but I was meeting a quota - I had to make it before the month was out, so I worked as quick as I could to make do.” Mal grumbles against his neck.

“Next time you go out, I’m coming with you,” Mal mutters quietly, and Rex twists to face him.

Gray eyes are wide, startled, almost. Rex presses his forehead against Mal’s. “Okay,” he decides instead of saying no. Mal would definitely flare up at him if he said no. “Good thing I’m not stepping foot onto Gramps for at least a week,” he jokes, and Mal gives him a narrow-eyed look.

This close, it made him look crosseyed and Rex giggles a little. Mal glares briefly, but it’s short-lived, and Mal tugs him close for a hug. Not that Rex would say that aloud. Mal might shove him out of the bed if that was the case.

“You better not - you did way too many dives with not enough downtime,” he grumbles into Rex’s hair, and the boy smiles, almost blissfully content.

* * *

Bana does not expect to see pretty aide waiting for him when he disembarks.

“Good evening Master Bana,” Annette bows low in greeting, brightly colored hair pretty as the proverbial picture. Her hair is curled to perfection, but the color bothers him. Her blue hair indicated news.  _ Interesting _ news.

They make it to his office before Annette speaks again. “Your favorite Salvager has acquired a Blade.” Bana had many favorite Salvagers, but only one did not have a partner or would require mention.

Bana indulges in a little head-wing flap. “Good!” He declares, much to the attendant’s surprise. “Rex-Rex is very profitable Salvager; backup with good money sense only fair for Rex-Rex.” The Nopon nods to himself as he squeezes his body into his seat. “Rex-Rex does have Blade with good money sense?” He asks threateningly, and the girl pales a little, nods rapidly. “Good! Rex-Rex does lots of salvage work - extra profits for Rex-Rex brings guild higher prestige and more visitors! This very good for guild!” Bana nods to himself. “Tell Bana about Rex-Rex’s new Blade.”

An informative ten minutes later, and Bana nods decisively. “Bring me Rex-Rex and new Blade. If Blade truly salvaged, it may be fancy Blade.” Annette bows politely and hustles out, leaves Bana alone.

Now, if Blade truly Blade that the Torna be looking for, Bana would regret it, but profit for guild upon handing Blade over would outweigh the loss of Rex-Rex.

For Nopon, profit above all.

* * *

Rex would  _ not _ stop fussing with his hair. Malos grumbles a few invectives under his breath; the subsequent whack to his shoulder told him he wasn’t quiet enough, however.

“Bana’s  _ really _ important,” Rex stresses firmly, and if Mal had the ability, he’d shake Rex, but the boy had already neatened himself up, and the kid would probably have a panic attack if his hair was even slightly mussed.

“You’ve said,” Malos decides on saying gently. “Don’t  _ worry -  _ I know how to behave myself.” The sheer  _ dubiousness _ on Rex’s face makes him snort. “I have manners, you know. I just don’t use them around you,” he teases. Rex’s nose scrunches up at him, not truly offended, but able to pretend it.

They’d gotten a sort of uneasy truce since Malos had apologized. It’d been nice, but he knew another argument was brewing on the horizon, whether it was for Rex’s stubborn independence or his own cantankerous nature. So he sighs and allows the boy to drag a damp comb through his hair, rolling his eyes the whole time.

When Rex leans back with a beaming smile, Malos smirks at the boy, shakes his head. The dismayed whine as his hair fluffs back to normal was almost as funny as the look on his face. “You’ve gotta give this up,” he says with a smirk. “Otherwise we’re going to be late.” Rex immediately flails for the door, an amused Malos trailing behind. He tugs the boy to a gentle stop, squeezes his shoulder.

“Calm down. You said that you bring a lot of profit, and from what I’ve read, Salvagers usually don’t work without a partner. It’s probably that Bana simply wants to meet me. I’ve been told you’re profitable for the guild to have around,” Malos jokes lightly, and Rex manages a slight smile at that.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” the boy agrees with him, and they walk together in comfortable silence. Malos squeezes his shoulder quietly when they reach the doors, the boy swallowing nervously as he stares up at the opulent display of wealth. Another blue-haired woman is standing before them, smiles at Rex warmly.

Malos immediately doesn’t like her. Nothing against her, but that shade of blue was suspicious - nothing like the soft waves that Healer Angela had. Too… bright. Distracting.

“Welcome back, Rex,” she greets softly. “Master Bana is awaiting you,” she bows lowly, opens the door and escorts him inside. Malos sticks close to Rex as the boy nervously makes his way down the hall and into the room.

“Thanks Annette,” he says to the woman, and her smile widens just a hair as she pulls open the door to what Malos supposes is Bana’s study.

When he finally comes face to face with the much lauded  _ Bana, _ Malos is not impressed. Bana was ugly, even by human standards. And he was  _ green. _ Did the Nopon even  _ bathe? _ Malos is knocked out of his thoughts by Rex, who is smiling warmly.

“Welcome back, Chairman.” Rex greets with genuine pleasure, and Malos refrains from eyeing the boy dubiously. How can he like this  _ obviously _ unwashed Nopon? Malos feels like slime just standing in front of the Nopon. “Thanks for calling for us - I’m glad to see negotiations went well,” he adds sweetly, and Malos picks up the thin thread of discomfort through their bond.

Ah. Rex was  _ not _ as oblivious as he’d feared, just well-practiced.

“Meh-meh, no worry Rex-Rex!” Bana flaps his head-wings, and they shine greasily in the light. Malos ignores his desire to retch. “Bana want to personally extend congratulations on new Blade!” Bana eyes him up and down, and Malos wishes he could bathe.

“I’m Mal,” he greets as politely as he can. “Thank you for your hospitality in taking care of my Driver.” He wasn’t sure, but he must have said the right thing, if Rex’s bright smile was anything to go by. Bana smiles, too, and Malos wishes he could turn away.

“Meh-meh - Rex good Salvager for guild! Only proper for Bana to keep eye on good investment!” Bana says with good cheer. “Speaking of, Bana has favor to ask of Rex-Rex and partner Blade! Favor can be collected any time by Rex-Rex or Blade in return!” Bana grins when Rex frowns a little, expression thoughtful.

“Huh… Uh, what’s the favor?” Rex says firmly, and Malos approves internally. Any favor from this guy could not be good.

“Rex-Rex collected several Green Barrels before in salvage, yes?” Rex nods thoughtfully, and Bana continues once he’s sure he has Rex’s attention. “From now on, Bana would like Green Barrels delivered to Bana personally for cut of profits in return. Bana understands that small Green Barrels can fetch a hundred thousand G per barrel, but in return, Bana allow for one favor! Loss of short term profits for long term gain, yes?”

Malos waits to see what Rex will do. He didn’t trust a word from the slimy Nopon’s mouth, and a hundred thousand G was no amount of petty change, especially if Rex fished these up on an irregular basis.

“Oh. Wow.” Rex sounded genuinely surprised, the boy’s expression clouded with thought. “Uh - can you give me and my Blade ten or so minutes? I need to discuss this with him, especially since he’s now my business partner.”

Oh. Malos  _ liked _ how his head worked. He keeps himself impassive, and once Bana gives permission, he doesn’t walk too quickly out of the room, allows Rex to pull him away from the door. They’re probably still spying on him, but Malos appreciates the sentiment all the same. The illusion of privacy easily wreathes them both, and Rex calms.

“Okay, I heard earlier about your thing with both those Nopon - you have any ideas about this?” He asks, and Malos hums to himself, reaches out to ruffle Rex’s hair nonchalantly, hears an indignant squeak as he messes with carefully groomed hair.

Malos snickers at him. “Okay, first, I would hammer out exactly how much of a  _ cut _ you’d be getting from these barrels. If he’s asking for them directly, they have to be a hot commodity, yeah?” Rex gives him a hesitant nod.

“I don’t normally sell them in the normal market - they’re easily stuff people get into fist-fights over, so I avoid it as much as possible. I go through auctioneers, and they typically take a pretty hefty cut themselves. About twenty-five of the sale goes to the auction-house.” Malos taps his fingers against his thigh in thought.

“Ask for at least a thirty-five percent cut if he offers anything less than twenty-five in profits - you’re putting yourself at serious risk for these things. As for the favor - unless there’s something you  _ really _ need, I would honestly insist that you hold it in reserve. Any new equipment or gear you  _ desperately _ need?” He asks cautiously, and Rex’s mouth presses into a line of thought.

“A depth probe,” he decides at last. “It’s been off by a few peds recently, but a few peds is really the difference between coming home and not having enough oxygen to make it back to the surface..” Rex grimaces. “I usually make error calculations ahead of time, but those only aid so much before I start getting short of breath.”

Malos’s eyes narrow. “Call in your favor for that,” he half-orders the boy, and Rex gives him a warm smile; shakes his head fondly.

“Okay then. I’ll do just that,” Rex agrees, squeezes Malos’s hand. “Thanks for the advice, Mal,” he adds, a little more warmly. Malos nods, tries to breathe past the lump in his throat at the simple acceptance. The boy blinks up at him warmly, leads them both back into the room, where the Chairman was waiting.

“What’s the going rate for the barrels?” Rex asks the Chairman, who eyes him in dubious concern. “Regardless of whether or not I hand them over to you, you can’t expect me to fish up these barrels for free - they take up time and space I could be putting towards other pursuits, and a hundred thousand G is a  _ lot _ of money to take up space with.” Rex says, crosses his arms.

Malos, in turn, leans back to watch the show, amusement playing on his lips as he observes.

Bana feigns offense. “Meh-meh Rex-Rex! Bana let you sell wares without fee to Bana, and Barrel is only valuable to certain people!” Rex raises an eyebrow, unimpressed by the logic.

“I can name twenty people off the top of my head I could approach about selling these barrels and I’d get at least a going rate for them,” he muses aloud. “One of them being for the Indol Trading Guild. They’re usually the ones who bid the most aggressively for the barrels, and I’m sure I could skip the auction-house entirely and go directly to them for the  _ full _ profit. As for the fee, the contract you and I are engaged in can only be broken if  _ I _ choose, and regardless, I’m an independent contractor from Leftheria, not Argentum. I pay them my yearly fee for license renewal.” Malos smirks slightly to himself - there was  _ definitely _ something valuable in them if Bana’s sweating was any indication.

“Eh-heh heh!” Bana rubs the top of his head with a head-wing, flaps them. “Rex-Rex tough negotiator! Bana pay rent space and favor!” Bana holds up a wing-finger. “Rex-Rex wants cut of barrel, yes?” He flaps his head-wings again. “Meeeeh, Rex-Rex no want favor?” Rex’s lips thin slightly.

“Not for such a big hit to my bottom line,” he shrugs, decides to let it go for the moment. “What you’re asking me is for something that helps me stay up in the rankings of salvagers. Giving it to you impacts both my ranking and my reputation. No reputable seller will let me get away with giving them something without proof of purchase, and if I drop in rankings because those Barrels are taking up valuable room, then it stops being worth the time to harvest them.”

Oooh. Malos notices the flinch - small, but there. He wasn’t as altruistic as he’d been pretending - not that Malos had even once thought such. He  _ wanted _ Rex to drop in rank, and he hadn’t said  _ why. _ Huh. He’d talk to Rex about that later. Maybe it was a salvager thing he hadn’t read about yet.

“Rex-Rex can keep favor! Going rate for small Barrels hundred thousand, so twenty five thousand G good cut?” Rex uncrosses his arms, plants them on his hips.

“Forty-five  _ percent _ per barrel,” he replies mildly. “It’s still life-threatening,” he reminds the sweating Chairman with the air of a mild summer breeze.

“Thirty?” The Nopon tries, gets a flat  _ look _ for it. “Mehhhh… Rex-Rex tough salvager to negotiate with...” Bana mops at his forehead with a hanky, and Malos is slightly surprised it doesn’t come back green.

“Forty,” Rex allows graciously, and the Nopon hems and haws over it, but with a wilt, he offers a nubby arm to shake on.

“Rex-Rex and Blade terrifying pair,” he grumbles. “And favor?” Bana looked like the last thing he wanted to was to honor the favor, but Rex eyes him up and down, before nodding decisively.

“A voucher for the Salvager’s Market on the top floor of Argentum. I need a new depth probe that fits my specs,” Rex states. Bana winces. “I need a durable one, not one with the fancy toys, and a voucher would work with getting me one.”

“...” The Nopon grumbles something impolite under his breath, flaps his head-wings in a vain attempt to calm down. “Rex-Rex is salvager alright,” Bana mutters. “And anything else?” It’s made in an obvious attempt to get rid of him, and Rex smiles.

“Yes. I want it in writing. So that way we both know what’s expected of us.” The Nopon relaxes at that, and huffs a little.

“Bana will send contract-” Malos interrupts here, calm as can be.

“No thank you. We’d prefer it’s done now. We would hate for anything to be lost in translation,” he remarks wryly, and Bana sweats more at the unkind smile on Malos’s face.

It took them twenty minutes to write a contract all three of them could agree on, and Rex  _ very _ carefully read every line to make sure Bana didn’t try to cheat him out of a thing before offering it to Malos to read.

Malos scans the most recent copy, and after a moment, he notates a few lines, tweaks the wording of a few clauses here and there, and makes sure to specify the amount to be in  _ percent _ rather than left ambiguous before handing it back.

Bana wilts, but two copies are remade,  _ finally _ signed, and sealed with the stamp of Argentum Trade Guild’s official logo, and Rex accepts his, beaming brightly.

“Thank you!” he says, clearly pleased as he accepts the voucher from the blue-haired woman. “We’ll be out of your hair now Chairman. Pleasure as always to do business with you!” He chirps, and the two hastily beat feet outta there before the Chairman could change his mind.

* * *

Bana slumps over his chair once the door slams shut behind them. Annette, practical as ever, fetches him a glass of Cloud Sea Wine, the crystalline glitter of it soothing his stomach.

“Rex-Rex and Blade make for terrifying combo,” Bana says to his glass of wine. “Bana wonders if Rex-Rex and Blade destined for great things.”

With instincts like that, Bana would not want to be on their bad side...

* * *

Rex is on Elysium, drifting along happily with the voucher and contract safely in Mal’s hands. He comes back to reality when Mal’s hand settles on his.

“Hey. You’re the expert. What do you want to do first?” Mal asks him, and he immediately goes from Elysium to below the Cloud Sea. He takes a steadying breath. Right. Profits were all well and good, but he had to be responsible about them now.

“Copies. At least four of them, and the original needs to be sent home. I can’t ask my usual partner to send it - he only carries coin home, since it’s simpler to transport.” He hums, looks thoughtful. “I could ask Gramps to hold onto it, and take a trip to Leftheria - I can introduce you to Auntie that way, and she can stop worrying. Sound good?”

Mal looks surprised, blinking owlishly at him. “You want to introduce me to your aunt?” He blinks, and the boy smiles up at him.

“You’re my Blade, right? Of course I want you to meet the most important people in my life!” he beams, and Mal gives him a smaller, more genuine smile.

“I’d like that,” he says quietly. “Let’s go get your copies, hey? And then we’ll drop one off by your Grandfather.” Rex tries his best, but he  _ cackles _ just a little.

“Oh Architect - you  _ have _ to say that to his face, he’ll blow a gasket.” Rex snickers at Mal’s bemused expression. “Ahem. ‘Grandfather! Who do you think I am? Some spindly old fart of a Titan who can’t even steer the right direction? I am useful for more than just following directions and blowing misama, thank you!  _ Grandfather. _ ’” Rex finishes the mock lecture, and to his gratification, Mal’s expression is entertained.

“You’re ridiculous,” Mal says bluntly, but shakes his head in amused consideration. “I’ll be honored to meet him properly,” Mal says, ruffles his hair again. “Now c’mon. Let’s go get those copies made.”

They don’t speak again until they’re in line, waiting for the Driver and Blade that ran the copier.

“Hey,” Malos asks quietly. “I don’t know if maybe I haven’t gotten to it yet, but what does it mean for a Salvager to have a  _ ranking _ on them?” Rex, in the middle of counting his coins for the fee, pauses.

“Well, a Salvager Rank is sort of like protection. The higher your rank, the more money you can demand on a job, and the less financially risky jobs you’re offered. For example, the highest-ranked Salvager is a Gormotti named Sylvia - she’s considered an S-Ranked Salvager, so any contracts she approves of are both costly in price and in her time. Unlike me, she’s paid both salary and commission, and if she turns down a contract, people are usually scrambling to get it themselves.” The line inches forward. “The lowest class often take high risk jobs for relatively little pay in comparison, regardless of the prestige of it.”

Mal frowns. “Do you have to deal with that?” he asks, and Rex pauses, a slightly sheepish smile on his face.

“Hold that thought,” Rex tells him, before handing both the voucher and contract over. They wait on it for a little bit longer, before their copies and the original are returned, and both move off for quieter pastures. “Yeah… I do. I’m not as new on the scene as I used to be, but I’ve had some pretty good luck salvaging, so I rose up the ranks faster than most people would have expected of me, not to mention I had a good mentor here,” he explains. “It also means people can’t take advantage of me as easily, so they try to drop my ranking whenever possible.”

“So you noticed it too?” Mal sounds relieved, and Rex smiles wryly.

“I’m young, not stupid,” he says with a snort. “Auntie Connie taught me how to recognize when people are greedy - and I’m not saying Bana isn’t, but that’s to be expected. He’s a Nopon. Even with that, he’s still a decent sort. Not the kind of guy I’d name a kid after, though.”

The look of relief on Mal’s face is a bit of a surprise, though. Rex tries not to let it get to him, knows that it’s just Mal being… well. Mal.

“C’mon,” he says instead. “Let’s go visit Gramps, and then use that voucher. It’s got a three day time-limit.”

* * *

He looks vastly different with his core crystal covered and purple crystals glittering at the hollow of his throat. Gray eyes sharp as a knife flick around Malos and return often to Rex, who is chatting amiably away at him. A faint smile curls over his lips at something the boy says, and his hand lightly ruffles Rex’s hair when he speaks.

Once they’re close enough, Azurda can hear his voice. “Surely we can deal with it when it comes. The voucher doesn’t explicitly ban commissions, does it?” Rex laughs, shakes his head.

“Okay, that’s evil even by  _ your _ standards Mal,” the boy laughs bright as sunshine, and Malos rolls his eyes.

“Hardly  _ evil _ \- it’s not like Bana doesn’t have the gold to spend, and I’m not losing you over a faulty depth probe.” His tone is filled with faint worry. Curious, Azurda pokes at Malos, searches for the bond of his old Driver…

Which wasn’t there. There was a faint glimmer of a bond between Rex and Malos, small but tentatively reciprocated.

_ Dear Architect, _ he thinks in silent shock. He had never wanted Rex to bond with Malos - merely keep the influence of Malos’s Driver from him. For a  _ bond _ to spring in place of the old one… had his Driver thought him dead?

More interestingly, did Malos  _ remember  _ his time under his previous Driver? The boy beams up at him when they’re close, and Malos offers a polite wave.

“Gramps!” Rex cheers, and he smiles down at his grandchild. The boy wraps him up in a hug, and Malos politely waits until they’re done.

(Malos.  _ Polite. _ Boggling.)

“So you’re the other person who saved my life?” He asks, and cautiously, he nods. Malos scans him over from head to tail, before snorting. “You’re  _ definitely _ not enough to keep this kid out of trouble, no matter how good your advice is.” He looks down at an indignantly vibrating Rex, and his amused grin softens into a smile. “You’re fifteen - old enough to get into  _ real _ trouble. Bet your Grandfather feels lucky someone with two legs will be able to keep an eye on you.”

Amusement wars with indignance and shock. Already, Malos seemed at ease, happier,  _ quieter _ than the vicious, loud, and forceful personality he had envisioned. Not at peace - no, a few weeks of unconsciousness and a tentative bond with Rex would not manage against five hundred years of isolation. But a faint contentment rippled through their bond.

Azurda slaps himself back to reality when Rex boards, Malos hovering anxiously near his face.

“It’s okay Mal, I promise you, Gramps won’t let anything happen to you on his back.” Rex promises softly, and he turns his head to watch Rex offer his hand towards Malos. Malos hesitates, and the bond flickers. “Mal, I  _ promise _ it’s safe,” he eases the Blade slowly onto Azurda’s back. Watching him tremble as he forced himself to follow his Driver was… a profound experience. When he’s made it, Rex reassuringly squeezes his hand, eases him into a seat.

“N-Not so bad,” Malos says, voice cracking audibly. He’s shaking from head to toe, and Rex embraces him tightly, startles the Blade into responding, head burying in a shoulder. They stay that way for several minutes, and Malos’ trembling eases into a quieter, more controlled response, and Rex helps him back off Azurda’s back, rubs the Blade’s neck carefully. He’s shivering and small, nothing like the monster of centuries past. His mouth is thin.

“We can get you used to it some more tomorrow. Let’s get you inside,” Rex urges, and shaking, Malos does. Even so, the Blade stops dead, and manages a quick bow to him. He doesn’t say anything - or perhaps Rex doesn’t give him the chance to. Malos is escorted inside, Rex waving a quick goodbye before disappearing after him.

Huh. Something for this old Titan to chew upon, at least...


	5. Song of Storms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past is not so easily let go of, and Malos's crimes still haunt him.
> 
> Or.
> 
> Azurda fucks up.

Watching Rex fish was a balm to uneasy nerves. Malos hadn’t taken Rex’s reassurances about him not getting dragged into the water from the dock at face value, so the boy had put them both on a ramp instead, allowing him to dip his feet in the Cloud Sea without worry for tumbling back into the water.

It’d only been three days, but already, Malos could feel how much more relaxed he was, arm wrapping around his Driver’s waist as Rex fishes. Rex’s humming happily, a hefty bucket of fish sitting nearby on a trundle, ready to be wheeled to the kitchens for free dinner. Rex reels in his line for the last time, and Malos huffs gratefully. His feet were starting to get cold. He’s first up, and he offers a wave goodbye to Rex’s Grandfather that the Titan bows his head regally for in return.

The Titan didn’t like him.

Granted, some days Malos didn’t like _himself,_ so fair was fair. But as things went, Malos was sure that the Titan _must_ have had a bad experience with him in the past. Working his boots back on, Malos washes his hands in the chill of the Cloud Sea before taking his place behind Rex, fingertips touching against the boy’s back. Rex relaxes, flashes him a smile, and he simply rolls his eyes.

Sure, his Driver was cute enough to have Gormotti blood in his veins.

Was he going to _tell_ his Driver that? Hell no. They enter the market, and laughter surrounds them as Rex beelines right for the fish market, allows the waiting Nopon to hem and haw over the caught fish. They pass muster, and the Nopon promises them both breakfast and lunch for tomorrow if they show up before the rush, to which Rex cheerfully agrees, Malos tipping a polite nod in response.

Something tugs on Malos’ boot. Silently, he turns to face it.

A Littlepon. It holds tiny, nubby arms out to him in a silent plea for him to pick them up, and Rex, grinning, doesn’t dissuade the little thing. Sighing, Malos picks up the Littlepon, the tiny ball of fluff snuggling against his throat and giving a squeaky thanks.

“Why do they all keep wanting to climb on me?” Malos asks Rex in annoyed amusement.

“You’re warm. Young Nopon don’t normally grow their first _real_ insulating coat of fur until they’re about five years old.” Rex explains, allows one to clamber into his arms before tucking it into his helmet. Happy squeaking echos inside, and Rex snickers. Malos scratches the top of a fluffy head, gets a cute squeak.

Okay, so they were pretty damn cute. Rex, amused, allows the remaining ten or so Littlepon to toddle around behind them as he waits for dinner to come out from the side window.

“We should charge for babysitting,” Malos sighs, and Rex laughs.

“How about information gathering?” he suggests. “Littlepons usually are good for that. They always bring me the best gossip in all of the trade guild since they’re usually so easy to sneak around.”

Malos tilts his head to a side, scratches under a Littlepon’s chin as he thinks about it.

“Hmm… Well, it’ll be something to do off our feet, at least,” Malos concedes after he’s swapped out his Littlepon for another. Rex gives him a tolerantly amused look that from any other person would have set Malos to bristling.

From Rex, it was only a sheepish sort of smirk in return. “You are absolutely _determined_ I get my week of rest,” Rex laughs, before setting the Littlepon back on the ground. “We’ll give you more rides later for information,” Rex teases, and the Littlepons whine at him, but trot off obediently. Dinner is served by a chubby Nopon who beams at them in a friendly enough fashion when the food is served.

Halfway through their meal, a polite cough interrupts their discussion on the best choices for salvaging gear.

“Hey! Draco, take a seat!” The boy beams, and the Blade looks amused. Despite that, he does take a seat, accepts the offering of fish that Malos reluctantly provides, knowing Rex would be unhappy if he didn’t. Rex smiles at Malos sweetly, shares some of his fish with his partner, before expectantly turning back to Draco. “Good news?” He asks, and the Blade chuckles.

“Yes. We were able to push through the payment via the voucher, so the depth probe is in the process of construction. We should have it done in two weeks.” Rex pumps a fist into the air, and Malos observes, indulgently amused. When the Blade’s attention turns to him, he raises a single challenging brow.

“What?” he asks bluntly, and the Blade simply shakes his head.

“Nothing, nothing,” they promise, and Malos hums, unconvinced. Rex gives him an unamused look, but he simply raises an eyebrow at Rex, who sighs at him. “I should be going.” The Blade wisely doesn’t push Malos, takes his leave as quickly as he dares.

“That was mean,” Rex says mildly to Malos, and Malos grunts, annoyed at the feeling of shame.

“He was looking at you in a way I didn’t like,” Malos deflects instead of admitting his fault. Rex’s mouth purses into a faint frown. Disappointment. The sight stings.

“It’s always like that. Bana does me favors more often than he does any other Salvager. Most trade guilds would have laughed at a ten year old kid wanting to be a Salvager. Bana was one of the first to take me seriously. Every time he does me a favor or does me something nice, people flit around and try to get in my good graces. It’s _normal,_ Mal. You can’t glare every person who does it away.”

“Watch me,” he mutters around a mouthful of rice, and Rex whacks him on the arm.

“Be _nice._ You can do nice - you do it all the time with the Littlepons,” he scolds, and Malos scrubs a hand through his hair.

“You’re the only person I want to be nice to,” he says at long last, and Rex flushes.

“At least be cordial?” he begs, Rex’s hand grasping his own and honey-hued eyes a little wobbly. “You can do that, right?” His eyes are as wide, and Malos feels deeply uncomfortable.

“... I can try,” he murmurs, gets a beaming grin in return. “But if they try to use you...” He threatens quietly, much to Rex’s fond exasperation.

Their bond warms and glows a little under his breastbone. “If they try to hurt me, you can bring out your whole toolkit of nasty, okay? But give people a chance to be good. Sometimes that’s all they need.” Rex’s fond words are mildly chastising, and he sighs, concedes to his Driver’s words.

“Fine,” he grumbles, though he knew the argument, mild as it was, wouldn’t be over yet. “Only because you asked, though.” Rex laughs, warm and bright.

“That’s all I can hope for, with you,” he teases fondly, and Malos ignores the warmth that fills him, even as a blush develops over his cheeks.

* * *

Angela would have to admit, she was not sure what to say when she saw Malos silently glaring away greedy well-wishers from where Rex is browsing supply catalogs. Rex notices after a moment, smacking his arm gently to which Malos sticks his tongue out at the boy playfully.

Rex’s laughter is impossible to miss despite the distance. XII is on her shoulder, preening her hair out of the bun it was in yet again. She gives her partner a sharp look.

“You look severe with your hair up,” they tell her gently, and she rolls her eyes at him.

“I’m a healer,” she reminds him crisply. “I’m meant to look stern.” It was quite helpful as well, when she went travelling. Nobody asked a healer impertinent questions when they were sure they would need her aid. Keeping track of Almalthus was not an easy feat, after all. She smiles however, nails lightly scratching the top of their head in gentle affection.

“Thank you, all the same,” she concedes, remains where she is as she observes them. Rex softens him in ways she still doubted possible, but when she’d watched him pick up that particularly impertinent Littlepon, she’d felt some of her doubts melt away. He looked… content. As though all he had asked for had come true. She looks down again, blinks when she realizes she has lost track of the Blade on her mind.

“You know,” a voice says dryly from behind her, “You could come down and say hello.” Angela whirls around, heart in her throat, to see Malos there, expression almost _bored,_ as though he snuck up on people all the time. His eyes flick to the bird, and there’s a wry sort of amusement in his expression. “Cute partner.” Malos comments, expression wry.

“How did-” she manages to cut herself off before she allows all her shock to show, but it’s too late - he’s already aware, and judging by his expression, amused.

“I walked. Rex likes to say it’s good for my health,” he remarks wryly, and she tries to glare at him, only succeeding in making his lips curl up into a smile. “Come down,” he says again. “Rex will need to talk to you anyways, and it saves me the trip of dragging him to you.” Angela doesn’t allow the words she wanted to say through, reluctantly trailing behind him instead. Rex’s smile lights up the room.

“Miss Angela!” He waves enthusiastically, and Angela can’t help but smile at him. “I’ve still got some fish left - you want some?” he offers sweetly, and she chuckles.

“No thank you. I’ll take a cup of tea, however. And maybe one of those cookies.” Rex happily provides, Malos sliding into a seat closer to Rex than strictly necessary. His glare was as protective as it was worried, the Blade settled uncomfortably as though he expected Angela to take Rex away from him. Not an improbability, but the mere fact that he was bothered enough to show that made her hum softly around a mouthful of tea. Rex glances between them, and with a huff, tugs Malos down to whisper something that made the Blade’s shoulders relax in relief. Malos stays comfortably close after that.

“How are you two adapting to being Driver and Blade?” Angela asks politely, and Rex beams up at her, pleased.

“We’ve had a few minor arguments, but other than that, Mal and I are getting along great!” He beams up at Malos, who looks less than amused.

“Oh? What about?” She teases, watches Malos glare at her.

“Rex’s tendency to overwork,” Malos deadpans, and Rex flushes, elbows him with a glare.

“You _also_ overwork yourself, Mal, don’t even start!” the boy fumes, embarrassment on his face. Malos flushes a bit, even though he was still obviously pleased at one-upping his Driver.

“So?” Mal grins wryly. “You still needed to be reminded.” The boy’s cheeks puff out, and Angela chuckles. Both of them blink at her. They’d forgotten she was ever here, clearly, if Rex’s blush was any sign. Malos looks quietly embarrassed, but instead of saying anything, he huffs and looks away from her. Annoyed, most likely. Rex bumps his shoulder fondly, teasing and warm and just a little playful. Malos pouts a little in return, obviously pretending nothing happened.

“I’m glad you two are getting along so well,” Angela chuckles after she takes a swig of tea. “Any signs of you manifesting your weapon?” she asks Malos, who shakes his head.

“No. Just this -” he lifts up the glowing arrow-head like stone and a bag, “glowing whenever I feel like reaching for a weapon. If it doesn’t show up by the time Rex and I head back out for work, I’ll see about looking for a chip and commission one to be made with this.” Rex smiles softly at him, head resting on Malos’ shoulder.

Angela tried not to let her relief show. If he couldn’t summon his manifestation of his blade, then surely Artifices like the first one she met were out of the question. That was one problem at least, that she didn’t have to worry about.

“That’s a solid plan,” she agrees with him, takes another bite of the cookie on her plate. “What else? I heard about the voucher - congratulations. You’re moving up in the world.” She smiles slightly at Rex, and the boy grins shyly.

“Thanks! I’m glad too, now - Mal and I have a lot of things to do together! Like getting him a good chip. Oh! And some Aux cores… those might come in handy.” Rex beams up at Malos again, and Malos rolls his eyes, fond amusement tugging up his lips.

“You’re something else,” he says, tone almost _fond_ of the boy. Malos’s hand ruffles Rex’s hair, and the boy laughs, swats at him.

Angela’s heart breaks for him. Had he wanted a bond like this? Before that man took any chance of it away from him? Malos looks up, and his fair skin reddens in the faintest hue of embarrassment. She quirks a smile at him, looking back at her tea.

His relief is amusing, but it wouldn’t do to lower her guard just because she felt sympathy for him.

* * *

Malos is awake long after Rex falls asleep against him, the boy content to sleep with his face smashed against the Blade’s chest.

His nights were usually like this now. Rex was a tentative Driver - he could distantly feel the frail edges of their bond, untested in battle or well… much of anything past a fairly domestic lifestyle together. It was only a few days, to be fair, but every Blade he’d spoken to had _known_ what they had come into this world for.

Rex… wanted a friend. Oh _sure,_ the kid was happy to have him as a business partner, but to the core of it, Rex was _lonely._ Malos’s hand strokes down a flyaway strand, eases the boy closer until he can hear the boy’s soft snores.

He doesn’t know when he falls asleep, only that the dark of the room faded into the lush beauty of another new land. He hadn’t been here either, and he curiously pokes around, trots around the soft sea of grass until he comes across another person, sound asleep against a tree. She’s pretty, flame-red hair flowing freely around a pale face.

How she wasn’t cold, he didn’t know. Never mind that this was a dream - it felt far too real to be _just_ a dream. He shrugs out of his jacket - when did he put it back on, anyway? - and slowly drapes it over her, making sure she’s covered.

Blushing, he pulls back and walks away in embarrassment. Rex was _definitely_ rubbing off on him.

Behind him, the red-haired beauty’s eyes open, curious green following after his embarrassed retreat.

* * *

“Look!” Rex tugs on Malos’s arm, his Blade rolling his eyes in annoyed amusement.

“I can see,” Malos says dryly, allows the boy to tug him happily. Rex tosses an annoyed pout over his shoulder as he tows the taller Blade towards Azurda. “Good afternoon, Grandfather,” Malos greets, and the Titan hits him with a stink eye. It softens when he sees Malos fidget uncomfortably.

“They’re almost done installing the depth probe,” he tells his grandson after a brief nod hello to Malos. “You two fancy a brief swim around the guild? I should test out my limits before we go for a further swim - it’s heavier than I expected, for all the durability you requested.” Rex pats his shoulder blade gently.

Malos, on the other hand, was a carefully controlled study in terror. The Blade swallows as Rex looks at him, worry filling his expression as he reaches up to hug the Blade. Malos takes the hug without complaint, arms winding tight. Rex squeezes him tightly.

“You can wait here, Mal,” the boy worries, and Malos swallows, visibly tempted.

“It’ll be short?” he shakily asks, and Azurda watches him, before answering.

“About thirty minutes,” he says, deciding to test the boundaries. Malos pales, sways on his feet. Rex worries more, and Malos grips him tightly enough to bruise, gray eyes dialated at the thought. Rex shoots him a _look -_ and Azurda winces. Ah. Rex had noticed then. The boy however doesn’t say anything, waits for Malos to make his decision.

“I can try...” his voice is faint and trembling, strung out. Rex gives Malos a proud, affectionate smile, and eases the Blade on his back, shooting him dirty looks when Malos is distracted.

Each and every single one of those looks stings. Rex would have _words_ for him, to be sure. Once they’re on his back, he can feel their Ether signatures. Malos was a burning inferno, wrapped around the steadier warmth of the light that was Rex. Every now and again, Malos’s signature would seize, as though terrified. Slowly, Azurda breaks from the dock and glides through the Cloud Sea, occasionally glancing back to see Malos with his head buried in Rex’s shoulder. The Blade was not handling the trip well, and if it was not for Rex, the Blade would have been an unconscious heap.

Oh dear. He would _have_ to explain himself to Rex after all. Rex was _furious_ with him, and there would be a reckoning when his grandson was able to leave his _Mal._

The ride takes the thirty minutes he specified, and Malos is wobbly, breath short and Ether flickering wildly like a dying flame. Rex gently escorts him into the building, shooting Azurda glares the whole while.

Ah. This would be uncomfortable.

* * *

Saying Rex was unhappy was like comparing a candle to a bonfire. Mal’s fingers gripped his shoulders tightly, shudders racking his body. Tears are sliding down his cheeks, and later, Rex knows, Mal will be _disgusted_ with himself for showing weakness outside of their room.

That was a problem easily solved. He knocks on a wall, and after a moment, the hatch pops out, and allows him to smuggle Mal into a hidden, plush room. His Blade is settled into a seat, and Rex runs his thumbs under Mal’s eyes, wipes away his tears.

“It’s okay, Malos,” he whispers the last word, mindful of the listening ears that may have been near, leaving his voice just above a whisper. Mal’s breath hitches, eyes closed as he shakes, falls apart in his spot. “Let it all out.” Mal shakes violently in his hold, sobs cracking over his lips like glass.

Rex holds him tight, doesn’t shush or silence him, just rubs reassuringly over his back and soothes him with quiet intensity, until his shaking fades and he is calm once more.

“...thank you,” Mal whispers, when he’s regained his voice. His eyes are red from tears, but they’re already healing to normal. Rex hums and cradles his face in his hands.

“What for?” Rex grins lightly up at him, and Mal’s grateful smile speaks volumes. Rex pulls back, and Mal watches him go with a tilt of his head.

“I’m going to get some of those Littlepons, and then I’m going to talk to Gramps - see if the calibration went okay.” Mal looks relieved at not having to be alone for too long to object to the idea of a Littlepon invasion. All Rex has to do is poke his head out to spy a gaggle of curious Littlepons.

With little effort, they’re quickly zooming into the room and making themselves at home on Mal, mindful of his core and happily piling on his lap. Mal’s smile is faint, before his usual scowl plasters back into place, though he’s handling the pile of fluffy-brained Littlepons with a slightly lesser scowl than normal.

Rex closes the door behind himself, before he immediately scowls himself and goes to interrogate Gramps. That grouchy old Titan owed him _answers._

“You better have a good explanation for why you did that to Mal,” Rex snaps, too angry to be polite; to take this elsewhere. Gramps gives him a faintly disappointed frown.

“Mal is trouble, Rex,” he doesn’t sound the slightest bit sorry. “I’ve known his ilk, and -” Gramps is cut off abruptly by Rex’s hand sweeping out in annoyance.

“You don’t _know_ Mal.” The boy snaps. “You _hurt_ him, when he was afraid, when he was _trusting_ you to keep him safe. You _crossed a line._ You owe Mal a _huge_ apology.” When Gramps makes to speak, he glowers sharply. “Think about what you’re going to say,” he warns. Gramps pulls up short.

“... Rex. I understand you’re angry with my actions, but trust me, please. He’s not good for you - the bond between you and him is interfering in your judgement. Mal is not _safe._ He’s _dangerous_ to you.”

The words don’t help. Sparks ignite in his chest, and he glares at Gramps. “That’s low, Gramps. I thought you’d be better than that,” he says sharply, and is gratified to see the large head rear back. “You’re judging him without knowing him properly, and that’s not fair to Mal. _And_ you hurt him. He hasn’t done anything to you.” He glares again. “That was your fault, and you better own up to it. Good _night,_ Gramps.” He storms back into the building, fury simmering under his skin. He has to stop, lean against the wall, and _breathe._ It takes him a long minute to relax, to force his anger from a boil to a quiet simmer.

His anger cools fully when he spies Mal, buried under a hefty pile of Littlepons, obviously torn between amusement and annoyance. Amusement has won, for the moment, if the way he is gently scratching lightly over the top of their fuzzy heads with a softness he’d deny later was a sign. Gray eyes flick consideringly to him, and Mal manages a half-smirk that Rex returns in full with a smile of his own.

He’d make Gramps apologize, later. But right now, Mal needed him to be steady and hold him together.

* * *

Rex wasn’t subtle. Granted, he probably hadn’t meant to be, but the way he was so pointedly ignoring what had happened and focusing on him grooming the Littlepons for loose fur was telling.

He touches his fingers lightly against an elbow, and Rex glances up, flashes him a smile and a light shake of his head.

 _Not here,_ he takes the headshake to mean, and Mal nods back, quiet and understanding. They work together, clean the assorted Littlepons, and by then, they’ve run out of gossip to tell Mal and Rex. He wasn’t sure why he’d need to know about the marriage between two Nopon, but the way Rex nodded and encouraged them made it clear his Driver found the topic interesting, and he files that thought away for later.

The gossip about the metal that Rex had salvaged however, had made his Driver perk up, and he wonders, if Rex wanted something with the metal. Rex shoos the last Littlepon out of the door, and the breath leaves his lungs in a rush as he finds himself hugged within an inch of his life. He ducks his head to lay it atop of Rex’s own, the boy squeezing him tight. Malos lets him, too touched by the fierce protectiveness he’d felt rear up from his Driver earlier. He was safe here, with Rex.

He lets the hug go on for longer than he has to, simply basking in the security it offered. It was nice, he thinks, to just relax, to have someone in his corner. Even without his memories, he knew it was rare to have it at all from a Driver.

So he basks in it. For however long it lasts.


	6. Viole(n)t Opal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malos is of the opinion that Rex needs more downtime. Rex, of course, is indignant.

“Maaaaaal,” Rex whines, nudges his heavy bedmate with a finger. He  _ knows _ Mal’s awake. He can feel the smirk against his collarbone, so different to the Blade’s usual peaceful expression for when he’s asleep. But Mal was  _ heavy _ as hell, half-sprawled over him and impossible to move. “Maaal,  _ c’mon _ let me up,” he whines again, and this time, Mal answers him, voice a low chuckle.

“But you’re a comfortable pillow,” he teases, doesn’t twitch one way or another. Rex whines louder at him, embarrassment mounting.

“Mal I have things to do today!” he insists, valiantly tries to wiggle free. Mal doesn’t seem to notice, tucks his head back into Rex’s shoulder and makes like a rock again.

“Mmph. Sunrise isn’t even for another hour and a half,” he complains, and Rex groans at the now-frequent argument.

It’d been a week since he’d gotten his new depth probe, and true to his word, Mal hadn’t let him do anything more strenuous than fishing, bargaining, and skinning Nopon for their money. The boy whines quietly at him again, wriggles more.

“I can’t even understand how you know that,” he complains, and Mal chuckles softly.

“My element is darkness,” he reminds Rex with a slight smile, hidden as it was. “I always know how long I’ve got left before the sun rises.” Rex sighs and flops a bit, tries to nudge Mal off of him. “And you don’t have any pressing engagements mister, so shush and take another thirty minutes.”

“You’re just going to make like a rock and not move, aren’t you,” he complains, and Mal smirks wider.

“Abso-fucking-lutely.”

“ _ Language, _ ” Rex chides, reaches up to rap his knuckles against Mal’s head, shifting it into a quick tousle of thick hair if only so that Mal knew that it wasn’t meant to be mean. Mal’s laughter rumbles against his shoulder, and he tugs the boy into his hold from where he’d managed to escape a little bit. Rex pouts, foiled again. “Uuugh, you’re impossible,” he complains, but allows himself to be trapped, aware this wasn’t a fight he was able to win.

“Mmm. You’ll thank me later for the extra sleep,” Mal tells him, and just like that, he’s back to snoozing, leaving Rex bewildered. That  _ had _ to be a Blade ability. He sighs under his breath, before easing back into a light, comfortable doze, hand still left in Mal’s hair as he relaxes into the warm, comforting embrace.

Between the warmth of Mal’s body, and the comforting darkness of the room, he hadn’t a prayer of staying awake, and he finds himself back in the gentle arms of sleep.

When he wakes, sunlight is just starting to peek through the windows, and Mal is nowhere to be seen. Blindly, Rex gropes for the paper he knew Mal probably left on the nightstand for him.

_ Went to get breakfast. If you’re not up by sunrise proper, I’ll grab another nap. _

It’s unsigned, and Rex sticks his tongue out at the paper. He sits up, feels the bird’s nest Mal had made of his hair, and grumbles his way through his morning ritual, scrubbing fiercely at his hair until it stopped looking like a flock of Tirkin had used it for a nest. He’s just finished zipping up his jumpsuit when Mal enters, loaded down with a tray of muffins and hot spiced chocolate.

His smile is amused when he greets Rex with a plain, “Mornin’.” It widens to a grin proper when Rex glares at him in the middle of putting his boots on. “I’ll take it that the rest did everything but that attitude of yours good, huh?” he teases, and Rex glares at him more, though he can’t help but fold to the smile that threatens to overtake his lips.

“You’re impossible,” he says grouchily.

“You mean I’m  _ right, _ ” Mal says smugly, and Rex sticks his tongue out at Mal, pouting. It only sets him to snickering, more amused than anything. “And I sweet-talked that Nopon that ran the common area to make two cups of spiced chocolate for the price of one.” Mal’s pleasure at managing to get one over on the Nopon running the kitchen makes Rex snort softly.

“You’re going to terrify generations of Nopon,” he laughs, accepts the cup as Mal hands it to him.

“I’m betting on it,” Mal says with a slightly smug grin. Mal sets the tray down and comfortably settles next to him, happily takes a sip of his chocolate. They eat their breakfast in comfortable silence, Rex dipping his muffin bites into the hot drink and enjoying the combination of flavors. “So… you said we were trying out weapons?” His voice is hesitant, and Rex nudges him slightly, gets him to relax properly.

“Yeah - I have to upgrade mine, and I want you to be able to protect yourself if anything happens,” Rex gently jostles him, smiles at his worry. “If anything, the metalsmith said he’d reduce one of the quarterly installments to Fonsett in return for me getting you a weapon from one of their better ingots.” Mal hums again, and it’s silent.

“Thank you,” he says quietly at last. “For putting so much effort into me.”

Rex blushes, ducks his head as he stares at his drink, ears reddening.

“You’re my friend,” he admits shyly. That seems to be good enough, and they finish their meals in a peaceful quiet.

* * *

“You really are everywhere,” Malos says in surprise when he enters the combat room with Rex. The healer and her omnipresent clipboard are there, amusement written over her fair features.

“This is the first heavy exercise you’re engaging in, for a given value of  _ heavy, _ at least,” she smiles apologetically. “If any of this strain causes your Core Crystal issues, then now is the best chance to catch it.”

He frowns at her, but the point is valid, so he shrugs his discomfort aside. Rex looks at him in concern, reaches out to briefly brush his fingers against his wrist, but doesn’t take his hand in the way he obviously wants to. Malos flashes the boy a grateful smile, and he hears Angela neatly clear her throat. Her smile is a small thing, and she gestures at the racks of weapons. Curiously, Malos strides over to it, feels a rush of accomplishment when the action doesn’t make him dizzy.

“So these are all just empty mockups?” He confirms with her, and she nods with a faint smile at him.

“That’s right. We’re just seeing what works with you for now.” Her eyes are crinkled at the edges, and Malos sighs, resigns himself.

The Ether Cannon is interesting. He gives it a proper ten minutes, tests himself against the targets Angela had set up, before he sighs, shakes his head.

“It doesn’t feel right. I can  _ use _ it, don’t get me wrong,” Malos tells his audience. “But it feels… kind of awkward? Like I’m expecting it to be lighter in some places and heavier in another.”

The next one, the Katana, is a bit too light and speedy - sings through the air like a dream, but after a few practice swings, decides against it. While he was sure he could adapt in time, it didn’t register the same way as the Ether Cannon.

His next try, a shield axe, goes about as well as he can expect, and he immediately puts it down. “I don’t know if you just decided to mess with me or if you were testing my recovery,” he deadpans to Angela, sees her amusement. “Too heavy.”

The one after that, a scythe, goes much better, but even though the reach is what he feels is right, there’s a bit too much rigidity to it for him to enjoy it.

Weapon after weapon is tried, failed, and discarded, bringing a sense of mounting frustration along with it.

After far, far too many tries of  _ way _ too many weapons, he lands flat on his ass, groaning. Malos’ arms and legs  _ ache _ like he’d just done some serious heavy lifting, and flopping on his back, he doesn’t need to see to know Rex was scuttling his way to offer him some tea. He flashes Rex a faint smile, accepts the tea with trembling hands. Rex doesn’t move him until he finishes his cup of tea, kneads some feeling back into his arms with obvious concern. He lets his head rest against a shoulder and smiles in faint amusement.

“Idiot,” he says fondly, and Rex grins slightly back at him.

“Your idiot,” the boy agrees, chipper as a daisy. Malos ghosts a chuckle against his Driver’s shoulder, amused enough to let it go.

“No luck?” Angela asks him, and he shifts into a sitting position, rubbing at his hidden core crystal.

“No, sorry,” Malos admits, and the thought galls him. “I thought I had it with that last one, but it doesn’t fit right...” Angela eyes him, looks him over as she considers, before slipping a surprisingly long coil of braided leather off of her wrist.

“May I borrow that crystal you always have on hand?” She asks, and with nothing to lose, he allows her to borrow it, watches as she wraps it gently around the crystal, weaving it in until it’s neatly tied around and ready to use. The leather is supple and soft, and Rex, sensing the change, takes his leave with the teacup.

He swings the leather cord, wishes wistfully it was metal, but it hums with rightness. Slowly, he spins it around in small circles, building up speed in increments until it’s a blur of glowing purple trailing behind like a snake, smooth spirals swirling around his body as he flows through movements.

It’s not perfect. The balance is just ever so slightly  _ off, _ and Malos knows this time, it’s not him. The design was so close to ideal that he couldn’t imagine having another weapon. It moves like an extension of him, and when he’s done, the weapon slices through the air like it was made for it before landing lightly upon his palm in a bounce of his wrist.

The look on Angela’s face was nothing compared to the awe and amazement on his Driver’s. His core warms further, glows warmly under his shirt. With a flush, he gives Rex a small, but genuine smile that is returned bright as the sun.

“Your turn, right?” He says, gingerly undoes the leather lacing and returns the braided cord to Angela’s care and tucking his own crystal back into his leather jacket, tucking it away. Rex nods, and when he moves to take his Driver’s place, thin arms wrap tight around his chest, and Malos can feel how sincere he is with his hug. He nudges the boy after a moment, but can’t deny the pleasure of being hugged so sincerely. He ruffles the top of a head, and Rex squawks at him, adjusts his hair back into place. Malos grins, and takes a seat when Rex grumbles his way through a few forms.

He’s not bad with a sword, Malos thinks critically, but it really was a bit too big for him, and that didn’t include the obvious balance concerns. He compensated well enough but…

“Find something else,” Malos calls, and Rex pauses, gives him a puzzled look. “You’re not built for a sword, Rex. Try something fitting your build. Daggers, maybe. And Rings, if you’re not super clumsy.” Rex makes a little face at him, but obligingly allows Angela to take the weapon away, grumbling the whole while. The daggers fit into his hands perfectly, and it doesn’t take Malos long to see how well they suit him. His hand drops to the bag of Ether crystals affixed to his side, and he wonders if he can make a weapon out of them as he watches his Driver.

Something to think on.

* * *

“Metal designed to channel Ether?” The blacksmith looks intrigued, and Rex knows it’s probably a new one on him. Mal is sitting nearby, looks vaguely amused as Rex describes what was needed. His head rests on his arm, gray eyes flicking between them as they discuss flexibility and choice uses. When Rex gives him a hopeful look, Mal is content to let his Driver borrow his armrest as a seat, drapes his arm over Rex’s lap and leans his head against the boy’s back.

Rex’s hand threads through his hair, softly affectionate. Malos sighs, allows the touch without complaint. “I’ve got some Ether crystals,” he volunteers when they break their discussion, and Rex flashes him a quick smile. The blacksmith eyes them both, before frowning.

“Well, if you’ve got them, I can see about giving it a try,” he offers, and Rex accepts the bag as it’s handed to him, opening them to display the crystals in their glory. They shine happily at him, and he gently fishes a handful of thin, stick-like growths out, offering them to the intrigued blacksmith. The smith is gentle when he handles them, inspects the crystal structure before giving a hum.

“Normally it isn’t recommended to put impure crystal into metal, but this is nothing  _ but _ Ether. Good structure and power flow - it might be a couple of hours, but give me some more and I’ll get with you around dinnertime.” Mal squeezes Rex’s waist, a slight warning that he responds to with a soft ruffle of his hand through dark hair.

“What is it going to cost us?” He asks simply, and the smith turns a considering eye on the crystals.

“Another one of these for experimentation, if it all goes well. If not, A single ingot will cost you about a thousand G, to cover the cost of materials used.” Rex frowns.

“Why so cheap?” He asks suspiciously. Mal’s hand lightly squeezes his waist again, quiet, understated approval.

The blacksmith looks embarrassed. “Well, Ether-channelling metal is fuck-all to get around here. If it goes well, I thought maybe we could work out a contract and split the sale of it fifty-fifty if this mad idea of yours works. People pay pretty G for metal that can channel Ether. Usually Mor Ardain or Uraya snatch it up for that war of theirs, but it’s got lots of other applications, especially for salvage ships and Ether engines.” Rex’s eyes light up, and Mal gives a very quiet hum, more felt than heard.

“Mind if I get that in writing? We can finalize and notarize it  _ if _ all goes well,” Rex suggests, feels Mal’s lips curl into a smile against his back. The Blacksmith eyes him, suspicious.

“Well, as long as I don’t get skinned the same way your Blade went after those two Nopon, I’ll be good.”

This time, Rex can feel Mal’s rumbling laugh against his spine, shoulders shivering with amusement as his mirth is quietly unleashed. Rex’s cheeks redden slightly as Mal poorly hides his laughter, using him to hide it. The Blacksmith, thankfully, only looks a little amused. Mal pulls back when the negotiations begin, and there’s a heavy debate on what counted as  _ successful. _

“How about this,” Mal suggests when the two have a lull in their argument, “We count it successful if someone  _ other _ than me can channel Ether through it. If it’s partly successful, then it’ll probably mean only I can channel Ether through without repercussions.” The Blacksmith hems and haws, before agreeing, and the contract is written up with little fanfare.

Rex is riding high, a buzz of soft happiness as the pair leave, and he chats enthusiastically away to Mal, the dark-haired Blade amused, but content to respond in kind.

Of course, such a lovely day was never meant to last.

_ “You!” _ A fluffy little Nopon makes Rex wince at the sight of her, and he immediately smacks a hand to his face. Oh god.  _ Kiki. _

“Let me guess, you wares-sat for her,” Rex groans, and Mal huffs in amused surprise.

“You know her?” He asks quietly as the Nopon storms up to them.

“Un _ fortunately, _ yeah,” Rex winces. Mal’s laughter is quiet but warm.

“Thieving Blade and thieving Driver! Kiki should have known!” She flaps her head-wings, glaring.

“Hello Kiki,” he sighs, looks down at the vibrating ball of fur. “What hare-brained scheme did you cook up this time?” Mal chokes back a laugh, quivering with amusement over his spine. Rex’s expression doesn’t change, and he plants his hands on his hips.

“You schemed to steal profits from Kiki! Kiki will not stand for thievery!” She flaps her head-wings again, tries to look threatening.

“Uh, no.” He says bluntly, and starts to walk around her. Kiki scurries before him, and only Mal’s hand on his elbow keeps him from stomping on her. Maybe he  _ should, _ just to make a point. “Are you  _ trying _ to get run over?” he complains, and Kiki vibrates harder.

“Kiki wants profits back!” she screeches, and Rex winces. “Nasty Blade and Nasty Salvager owe Kiki profits!” Rex sighs again, rolling his eyes heavenward.

“Architect,  _ please _ give me some goddamn patience.” He mutters the words as quietly as he dares, but Mal’s snicker makes it clear that his partner had heard. “Kiki, either you move, or I go and get Bana involved.” Kiki shivers, but scurries back into Rex’s way.

“Kiki will not allow Salvager to steal from Kiki!” She declares, and Rex, rubbing the bridge of his nose, decides he’s going back to bed once this was over.

“Kiki, move. Or I will  _ punt you,” _ Rex’s voice drops to a threatening tone, and the Nopon squeaks. “You nearly caused me to get injured. Get out of my way.” When she scrambles in his way again, Mal yanks him away from her, growling in annoyance.

“Let me,” he says flatly, and the Blade easily picks her up, hefts her firmly in his hand, before dropping Kiki.

The kick is a beautiful five-point goal hitter, sends her sailing out of the window and into the Cloud Sea. Her wailing follows, and Mal gives a satisfied smirk, before lacing his fingers with Rex’s.

“C’mon,” he says softly. “You feel exhausted - let’s get a lie-down before we have to go back to the smith.” Rex smiles up at his partner, relaxes.

“You’re the best,” he tells Mal, and his Blade huffs a laugh into his hair. He leaves, content with both the contract and the day.

* * *

“Ah - you’re early!” The Blacksmith is surprised, and Malos grins ruefully, takes a seat. “Can I help you?” He asks kindly. Mal pulls out two crystals from his bag.

He’d worked on shaping them when Rex had been napping against him, the slight weight of his Driver a steady, warm reminder. They glitter temptingly in the light, their structure unlike that of any weapon he’d seen. Slim, forearm-length blades curved just slightly to make room for a slight margin of error, and a razor’s edge.

“Can you make these into proper daggers?” he asks, and the smith takes the items in his hand, inspects them, the carefully dug-out holes, and whistles.

“I can - damn, though, if they aren’t pretty as a portrait. I’ll have a handle and grip on these quick as you please.” Malos nods in thoughtful silence, before offering him a bag.

“I spoke with a few Drivers who purchased weapons from you before. They gave me a rough amount to offer.” The man’s gaze flicks up to him, before he accepts the bag, counts the amount inside, brow raising.

“Awfully generous of you - this is pay for a full workup.” Malos shrugs, looks a little embarrassed.

“I want my Driver to be safe. If the price of that is a bit more money… then I’ll pay it.” He admits quietly. The smith looks at him, before clapping a hand to his shoulder

“Not all Blades are as dedicated to their Driver as you. I’ll make sure your Driver has the finest daggers in all of Alrest.” 

Malos’s cheeks flush, and he wills the embarrassment away.

Thankfully, the smith is quickly distracted by his task, leaving Malos to quietly relax and ignore his feelings in peace.

By the time Rex comes in, Malos has settled into a sort of sleepy daze, the heat and warmth lulling him into a sort of comfortable quiet. The sensation of his Driver being so close makes heavy eyes open, Malos blinking up at his amused expression.

Rex’s gloved fingers cup his cheek, jolt him to wakefulness. Malos flushes pink at Rex’s understanding, warm grin.

“You’re looking pretty knackered there,” Rex chuckles, and Malos huffs, embarrassed. “Been a long day, yeah? We can call it a night after we see if the experiment is a success.” He flushes a bit more, but Rex notices it this time, and his amusement turns into a more sedate warmth, thumb brushing over his cheek gently. He pulls back, and raises his voice. “Heyo! I’m back! How did it go?” He asks the Blacksmith, who eyes him in curious intrigue.

“Went pretty well! Just waiting on your partner for the final test.”

Malos shakes himself free of his exhaustion, striding over to join both Rex and the smith. He gives a slight yawn, rubs his eyes.

“You could’a said something,” he yawns slightly around his exhaustion.

The smith chuckles. “I didn’t think your Driver would have wanted to miss seeing it in action if it works.”

Malos pauses, and then gives a rueful grin - yeah, he would have been upset to miss something so monumental. The ingot is well-shaped, a thin wheat-chain of material that flexed and twisted lightly in his grasp. It’s a rich shade of purple-silver, the lovely indigo shade more visible in the darkened edges of the links than in the highlights.

It  _ sings _ in his veins as he touches it, the chain blazing with dark purple fire, though glittering pink shines in the deepest depths of the chains.

“It’s amazing,” Malos breathes, honestly awed. The glow fades, and he can feel the lingering warmth of heat in the chain. “I… wow,” he admits, makes the smith chuckle.

“Sounds like approval to me!” The man guffaws jovially. “I’ve got some left, so I can make you a band around that crystal of yours, and you should be set for a weapon.” He swallows quietly, amazed and quietly wanting all at once.

“Did it work with another Blade?” Rex asks prudently, can see and probably feel how utterly overwhelmed he is, lightly tracing his fingers along the chain without reservation.

“Worked like a dream,” the smith confirms. “Not as well as for your Blade, mind, but I’m guessing that’s because the crystal is his original one. So, I’ll make that up for you tonight, and whenever you lot are ready we can hash  _ all _ the details out about how this’ll work. Even one ingot a month will be great, but doing it while your Blade is overwhelmed is just  _ asking _ for trouble, I think.” The smith grins, and Malos makes an annoyed noise in the back of his throat.

He was being an  _ obvious _ idiot, he thinks, half-hides behind Rex. He reluctantly parts with the crystal. It’s only for a night. He’ll be okay for a while.

The moment he lets it go, Rex hustles him to bed, soft fingers and gentle nudging to coax the reluctant Blade away from his most cherished item. He eases comfortably back in their shared room, and openly reaches for Rex, too tired to push away the soothing presence his Driver offered him. Rex smiles lightly, obviously charmed by his docile-seeming nature.

That wouldn’t last long, Malos decides muzzily, following the thought into sleep.

* * *

Rex wakes to Mal making like a rock, the Blade nudging up under his chin with a satisfied and sleepy sigh. It’s the second time in as many days his Blade’s become so quietly comfortable in his presence.

He still doesn’t approach Mal though if the Blade is facing away from him. It made Mal… jumpy. He lifts a hand, threads it through the dark hair gently. Mal gives a sleepy little whine, nests closer to him as he snoozes away, not yet roused by Rex’s tender touch. It was nice to be able to spoil his Blade without Mal shying away. Mal didn’t like being shown affection, didn’t like being treated gently, and always seemed to be expecting a stab in the back. Even Rex was treated with suspicion, and that hurt a little bit. But only a little.

He knew part of the reason why, of course, and he’d take care of Mal no matter what.

But when he found the bastard who did this to Mal, who  _ hurt _ Mal, they’d wish he never met them.

Rule Ten: If someone hurt you beyond reason, make sure they couldn’t see when you hit back.

Mal stirs more, his voice thick with sleep when he speaks. “G’back to bed,” he grumbles sleepily. “Got tons a’time till dawn, idiot.” Rex’s smirk is small, but there.

“We’re going to have this conversation a lot, aren’t we,” he chuckles, and Mal hums, sleepily amused.

“Mmhm. Get used to it.”

Rex rather decided he would, in fact, get  _ used to it. _


	7. Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loyalty is not so easily extinguished.

Time to face the music.

The final calibrations had been completed, and the three weeks he’d been out of commission had eased Mal into feeling comfortable enough with the Cloud Sea to take short swims, if the worst happened.

None of that reassured him, however, that when Gramps finally made his apology, Mal would be okay. Mal was used to being kicked while he was down, and Rex had  _ no _ idea how he would work around that.

“You look worried,” Mal notes quietly when he returns with their lunch.

“I screwed up on something,” he admits, scrubbing his hand over his face. Mal, predictably, looks concerned, and sits closer to him. “I’m sorry Mal… You’re going to be angry, one way or another.” That seems to concern him even more, and his hand alights against the small of Rex’s back. Rex sighs at the softness in his touch, but is undeterred.

“It can’t be that bad,” Mal tries to cheer him up, and Rex smiles wearily up at his Blade.

“You’re just saying that because it’s me,” he jokes, and much to his surprise, Mal nods seriously.

“Yeah, that’s true. It  _ is _ you, and I know you wouldn’t let anyone hurt me deliberately without tearing them a new one.” Rex’s cheeks flush at the surprising show of faith from his Blade. Leaning down, Mal’s mouth presses against his temple. “Is this about the thing from three weeks ago?”

Rex winces, which he knows is answer enough. Mal hums slow and deep, tone thoughtful and considerate as he takes his time thinking about it.

“Well, if I get mad, it won’t be at you,” he reassures the unconvinced teenager, sits next to him with a light rub of his hand over Rex’s shoulder. “I remember you came back angry about something, but I don’t remember what. I’m sure that you took care of it as best as you can, and if I’ll fault anyone, it won’t be you.”

Mal really did know how to say the nicest things, Rex thinks, sighs as he leans against Mal.

“I hope you remember that after the conversation we’re about to have.” Rex mumbles weakly, feels Mal hug him gently.

He’s careful not to make it look like an actual hug, and Rex sighs softly, turns it into a proper one. Mal stiffens a little, but relaxes after a moment, realizing he was safe. Rex lets go before Mal can get  _ too _ uncomfortable, feels a little annoyed that he has to. Mal shouldn’t feel  _ uncomfortable _ being hugged by him, dammit. He ignores the nagging annoyance in his head for the moment, watches Mal relax once eyes are off of them both.

Rex notices when Mal hesitates upon Rex’s touch to where he can’t see. He sees how nervous Mal is when he thinks nobody is watching his back. Oh yeah - he and Gramps were going to be lucky to get out of it without a scratch. Silently, he braces himself, touches Mal’s hip lightly, the older-looking Blade jolting slightly in alarm before relaxing at the realization it was him.

Rex winces. Yep. He was totally buggered.

* * *

Malos wasn’t unaware of Rex’s worry. Normally, and under pretty much any other circumstance, he’d have been amused. He’d been getting better at tolerating Rex’s touch, of tolerating being surrounded by people, but even then, he still felt a little… unsettled, like what he was doing could still be used against him.

And his Driver’s pessimistic outlook was not helping things.

Though, Mal thinks with a snort, that was his Driver’s typical state. He tended to worry about things of a more practical nature, and their working relationship seemed to matter a  _ lot _ to Rex, to say nothing of their personal or even private one.

He allows Rex to lead them to the destination, and carefully -  _ very _ carefully - indulges his mind of it’s wanderings.

The only thing he’d gotten was that it had to do with the events of three weeks ago, during which Rex had come back after the calibration seeming unreasonably angry. It clearly hadn’t been anything to do with the equipment, and while he’d greeted the old Titan now and again, it didn’t seem - at least to him - that the sailing beast had been in any ill health.

So for all of his curiosity, he was baffled.

He quickly ruled out their first argument - that was closer to four weeks ago than three, and Architect knew that Rex would have confronted him about it by now, if only to clear the air. Rex had been worried for him, that much was clear, but he’d also been unhappily practical about things. Malos brings himself out of his reverie in time for them to approach the large, silent Titan.

“You got something to say, Gramps?” The boy raises an eyebrow, crosses his arms and taps a foot.

Silence stretches into the realm of the uncomfortable. Finally, the great head lowers with a sigh.

“Rex, this truly isn’t necessary,” he says, and Malos feels his curiosity piqued, glances between them.

“Mal can judge that for himself, thanks,” Rex’s tone is cool and a bit biting, and Mal can  _ feel _ the annoyed hostility - this must have been a frequent argument of some kind. His unease grows with the situation.

“My boy...” At Rex’s sharpening glare, the Titan sighs. “Alright, fine, fine,” the Titan grumbles, clearly reluctant. “I owe you an apology.” Malos blinks.

“That’s it?” He says incredulously. “For  _ what?” _ he can’t actually imagine what the old curmudgeon of a Titan had to apologize for.

That’s when the Titan told him. His fingers clench tight around Rex’s hand, the grounding, bristling protective presence. He… The world around him sways sickeningly.

If it had been just his distrust, Malos was pretty sure he could have dealt with it. If it had just been the ride, he could have handled that too. But both? It hits like a hammerblow on both sides, leaving him winded and lost. Rex eases him away, the boy’s hand clenched tight around his as his young Driver coaxes him away, takes him somewhere safe. His breath is punched out of his lungs, and he’s not actually sure if he’s breathing at all.

He’s able to tell he’s sitting down, and there’s a warm weight in his lap that he numbly wraps his arms around, trying to gather his bearings.

His core  _ aches, _ a physical wound that stabs against the warmth of his Driver’s worry. He can feel the touch of a hand running through his hair, shivers helplessly as the numbing cold is eased back by his Driver, the sound of his voice meaningless but for the wash of warmth and reassurance and  _ comfort. _ His Driver was here, his Driver was holding him, his Driver was keeping him  _ grounded. _

He wasn’t sure what on earth he was going to do. He wanted to scream, to yell, to  _ hit _ something, but he couldn’t do more than breathe and cling to Rex, shuddering quietly as something in him breaks.

When he comprehends words again, he can feel Rex’s breath against his shoulder, the boy’s mouth against his throat as he sleepily continues to murmur reassurances to him. Reaching out with his senses, Malos blinks.

It was night. His Driver had been with him  _ all _ Architect-damned  _ day? _ He hefts Rex higher, feels him stir sleepily, before jerking up to full alertness.

“Mal!” His honey-gold eyes are coin-round, looking up at him in concern. “Are you alright? Can you hear me?” He smiles down at the boy weakly, too unsettled to do much more than hold his Driver to his chest.

“I hear you,” he confirms quietly. “I…  _ thank you,” _ he decides on saying after a long, drawn-out pause.

Rex looks up at him, all warmth and care. “You’re my Blade. I promised to take care of you.”

Something in his core gives way at the quiet, earnest admission, like a shackle being unlocked around his soul.

Malos closes his eyes, drops his head on top of Rex’s own. “Yeah,” he breathes, despite knowing his Driver didn’t need an answer. “You did.”

* * *

Rex eyes him over breakfast the next morning. There’s a quiet reservation to him, but nothing as broken or sharp-edged as yesterday.

It’d been scary, how Mal had fallen apart in his arms, broken over and over until he’d put himself back together. Rex had no illusions that Mal wasn’t angry about the truth coming out. There had been a dark fire behind those gray eyes of his, and while he’d gladly accepted Rex’s touch without hesitation for the night, he’d been quiet and taciturn instead of his somewhat more verbose self.

Rex’s fingers touch Mal’s elbow, and the Blade obediently stills and looks down at him, lips quirking up slightly.

“Yeah?” His voice is even, not the slightest bit upset at him, but Rex can feel the stirring anger in their bond.

“If you’re going to be mad, that’s okay. But don’t forget, I need Gramps to make a living,” he says, and is greeted by a surprised blink.

“Isn’t this the point where you tell me  _ not _ to hurt him?” He asks, amused out of his dark, stoic reverie.

Rex snorts. “I have a pretty good idea that I’d be fighting a losing battle there. Besides, that’d run counter to rule ten in the Salvager’s Code,” he chuckles. Mal tilts his head, curious as a kitten faced with fresh fish for the first time.

“Oh? What’s the rule?” He’s obviously intrigued, and Rex grins, sharp and volffish.

“If someone hurt you beyond reason, make sure they can’t see when you hit back,” he quotes, gets a snort from Mal and a tousle of fingers through his hair.

“Good outlook,” Mal concedes, tone slightly odd. Rex looks up, wonders about the change. His hand settles on the top of Rex’s head. “Hey...” He sounds a little uncertain, but Rex waits, patient. “I… I don’t mind if you want to call me Mal full time,” he says at last, and Rex’s heart leaps.

The concession might have been small to anyone else, but for Rex, he knew how big of a deal it was. Mal only had his name - the one thing he still remembered, out of the dark, empty echos of whatever his prior history he had. To willingly be okay with it… that was  _ huge, _ for Mal.

Rex catches Mal’s hand, brings it down to hold it in both hands. “Thank you,” he says, instead of brushing it aside like he would from anyone else. “I mean it.  _ Thank you.” _ A dull flush creeps up Mal’s cheeks, and he ducks his head, embarrassed at the warmth as it blooms over his fair skin. He holds Mal’s hand, doesn’t let him go until the flustered Blade mumbles something, shakes his hands slightly until they’re free.

He couldn’t blame Mal though.

“We can delay another day if you want,” Rex offers, and Mal shakes his head.

“No, it’s okay. I do want to swing by the smith’s - I completely forgot about my weapon,” he mumbles, voice sheepish. Rex perks up.

“Hey hey! I can check on the prices of their daggers too,” the boy says, cheered. For some reason, this makes Mal smile, a slow, amused grin that spelled some kind of trouble.

“Oh no,” he says quietly.

Mal proves that he’s made of evil when he snickers.

* * *

For once, Malos is eager, skipping - not  _ literally, _ though - ahead of his Driver as he eagerly makes his way to the smith’s area. Rex is amused and a touch concerned, following behind him with a more relaxed stride.

“Hey! I was about to send out a search party for you,” the smith greets, nods at them both. “Your weapon is set and shouldn’t wiggle free anytime soon,” he tells Malos, who accepts the lacquered box with a faintly impressed air. He waits expectantly, and the Blacksmith doesn’t disappoint, pulls out a box.

“Here. You’ve got one heck of a Blade, kid.” The smith grins playfully as he displays a second, just as delicate looking, box. His Driver blinks, eyes going wide.

“Maaaaaal!” The boy immediately turns on him, wide-eyed wonder and awe. Malos grins back at his childish expression, undeterred by the adorable sight before him that had felled lesser men and Blades.

“You’re my Driver,” he reminds Rex, flicks a finger against an ear to his slightly wounded squeak. “If you get to take care of me, then I get to take care of you.” Rex’s face is red, the normally expressive boy too flustered to respond. “Thank you,” Malos says to the entertained-looking blacksmith. He gently plants his palm over Rex’s back, escorts his Driver back to their shared room with a firm hand.

Once inside their room, Rex nearly falls flat on his ass, clutching the prize as though it was a precious treasure. Malos takes a seat with him, waits patiently.

“Well?” He asks. “You gonna open it?” Rex’s hand passes over the box, watery-eyed and Malos feels his heart jump up his throat a little bit.

“I’ve never gotten a gift like this before,” Rex’s voice wobbles unsteadily, and Malos forces a swallow down, scoots closer to wrap an arm around Rex’s shoulders, trying to offer what comfort he could. “I always got the practical stuff from Auntie Connie,” he sniffs, rubs his eyes with his arm, peels his gloves off so he can use the heel of his palm to stem the flow of tears. “But I was always told that I had to earn them - we had too many mouths to feed for coins to be spared,” he leans against Malos, and Malos, in turn, pulls Rex closer.

“You’re my Driver now,” he echos softly. “I want to take care of you.” Rex gives another sniff, buries his head into Malos’ chest and he feels the faintest alarm at the feeling of tears dampening his shirt.

It takes Rex far more time than he expected to pull himself back together, and his Driver's cheeks flush as he realizes that he’d cried enough to leave a decent-sized patch of damp fabric. “I...” Rex makes to speak and Malos covers his mouth with a hand.

“If you let me freak out on you when I had my problems, then I’m allowed to do the same for you.” He waits until Rex looks at him to let a grin tug up his lips. “Just don’t make it a habit.” Rex manages a giggle at his teasing, leans against his chest and takes a deep, soothing breath in.

“Mmph.” The boy doesn’t move, rests against him like a content kitten, and Malos scratches his fingers over Rex’s scalp, lets the boy relax. “I’m pretty sure I’m going to blubber all over you again like a twit if I open it,” he laughs weakly. Malos knuckles his Driver lightly upon the head, smiles softly to take the sting out of it.

“Well, do so anyways,” he says gruffly, a little uncomfortable with the overt display of emotions, but unwilling to say anything to make his Driver stop. “I want to see if they fit.” Rex nudges himself up to fleetingly hug the Blade, and Malos freezes instinctively before returning the affection. His mouth presses to the top of Rex’s head, and he allows it to linger before the boy pulls away, obviously aware of his discomfort.

And that annoyed him - Rex wasn’t going to stab him in the fucking back - that would have been counterproductive as fuck. Shakily, Rex sweeps his palm over the glistening wood of the case, and he carefully toggles the lock that keeps the case closed, lifting it so he could see the contents inside.

Rex’s breath catches in his lungs, and the utter  _ joy _ that flows through their bond catches him entirely off guard, sweeps him away into the eddies and curls of such pure happiness.

The daggers gleam up at them, glowing with a subtle glow of purple flames, the boy delicately reaching out to cradle the handle of them.

They’re a perfect fit, so smoothly slotted within his delicate grasp. They look viciously brilliant in his hands, prettier than any poet’s ballad. Nestled within the black velvet of the case, there’s a pair of slim leather holds for them, giving him everything he needed to wear them. Rex carefully pulls the two leather sheaths out, and it takes him a long moment to find a good place to put them, before deciding that perhaps the hidden pockets would have better storage for now.

“If we keep getting good deals on the stuff I salvage, then maybe I can upgrade the suit too,” Rex says with a small laugh. “Now c’mon. Before I start blubbering like a baby, you have to show me what yours looks like.” Malos lightly scratches his nails over the top of Rex’s head, feels the boy melt into him as he carefully undoes the lock on his own.

The crystal winks happily at him, a beauty in resplendent purples and blues. The dark silvery band around the flattest and widest point was beaten metal, twisted in elegant simplicity. The chain had a thin thread of even smaller silver links darting between each link.

This was a weapon worthy of the glory of a Blade. He finds a sheath and clasp for it, and it takes some fiddling before it’s a smooth slot around his arm, the chain winding up and around his bicep. Something within him fits into place, a quiet, comfortable easing of his pain.

Malos sighs and pulls his Driver to him, content.

* * *

They were heading out. Mal is quiet and quick, already calibrating the probe for travel, long fingers dancing over the handful of controls as he expertly toggles settings in the barely rising light of the sun. They’re the only ones up at this hour, prepared to do a heavy haul for the day.

“We’re heading out to make headway on this month’s quota,” he tells Gramps flatly. “Northeast, a dozen kilometers, and then follow the Tantal Current. I’ll tell you where to stop.” He hops onto Gramps’ back without a second glance.

“My boy...” Rex shoots him a glare, annoyed.

“Just get moving. We don’t have time for pleasantries.” Rex dismisses his words, before turning to Mal to avoid the inevitable look of parental disappointment. He promised to support Mal, and he  _ would. _ Regardless of the inevitable disappointed looks he would get. Mal gives him a faintly fond smile, and Rex sits down, watches the Cloud Sea stir as Gramps reluctantly sails over the Cloud Sea. Mal kneels down to match him, head resting against his shoulder as he cautiously seeks affection, hand settling around a waist. Rex pointedly doesn’t make note of it, takes the hand in his and squeezes. He pulls Mal closer, the two riding out the first leg of the journey in near silence, broken only by Mal’s slightly ragged breathing.

Even with the carefully done exposure therapy, Mal was not handling the ride as well as he’d hoped. Rex shifts his body, tugs Mal carefully until the shaking Blade stretches out with him to lay against Gramps’ back. Mal’s head tucks into his shoulder, the boy using his hand to press Mal’s face against his shoulder. His trembling eases, and this close to the Cloud Sea, the foam washes quietly over them, a cool caress that Mal flinches at the feel of, before he settles and relaxes against Rex’s shoulder, eased further by Rex’s hand in his hair, slowly nudging against the base of his scalp. Mal seems blissfully content, relaxed in a way he never was at the guild, and Rex guesses that the lack of eyes on them was the cause.

Once or twice, Rex catches Gramps looking over, and each time, he arches a brow in silent challenge. Each time, Gramps winces before turning away. Mal’s breath has evened out, but he’s not asleep, and Rex can feel him twitch when the clouds grow thicker or wetter. He dips his head down a little.

“Up we get. You’ll be okay though, alright? I’m here.” It takes some coaxing, and Mal’s grip doubles when Gramps turns onto the Tantal Eastern Current, doesn’t move until he’s used to the new speed.

“I’m okay,” Mal reassures with a wobbly voice. Rex strokes his hair, takes care to be kind as he settles Mal into a comfortable seat.

He hugs Mal tightly before he directs his next words up to Gramps. “Take the Northern Tantal Current branch,” he says, before running his hand through Mal’s hair.

Normally, Rex fills the air with chatter, lets Gramps in on the gossip and the new things. Heck, he wanted  _ so bad _ to tell Gramps about the nice shiny daggers Mal had so kindly helped craft for him. (Rex was young, not stupid. He knew  _ exactly _ where the blades came from)

But it wouldn’t serve his purpose. Gramps had  _ screwed _ up. Rex doubted he felt sorry for what he’d done, even with his half-arsed apology. So Rex would  _ make _ him understand the best way he knew how.

“Branch off port-side,” he says brusquely, before pulling free of Mal’s lingering touch. His Blade leans towards him; corrects course to look as though he was just leaning on his elbows. Rex strokes his hair back again, unable to help himself. “This is good,” he says shortly. The large maned head turns to face him; he turns away so he can’t see, angles his hands to calculate how close they were. The last of the stars are starting to fade, but the coordinates looked right. “I’m going to go ahead and make the dive,” he tells Mal, who looks up, manages a wobbly smile. “If you need anything, tug on the probe, yeah?” He asks, and Mal smiles uncertainly.

“I’ll be okay,” he breathes out, clenches his hands tightly together. “Just… don’t be long, please,” he pleads quietly, and Rex catches him in a hug.

“Promise,” Rex swears, unable to help himself at the moment of vulnerability.

Before his sentimental side can keep him there all day, Rex gears up, checks the depth probe and casts a wide-area search. It hits a ping about a hundred forty peds down, and quickly, Rex runs the calculations over in his head.

He’d probably want a silver canister for now - that had more oxygen and would give him enough to check his error calculations. He gives Mal a wave, and his Blade smiles at him for it, gray eyes worried as he turns away to dive under the Sea.

To his surprise, there’s practically no margin of error at all to get to the depth the probe had pinged as potential cargo.

Huh. Talk about damned good luck. A Green Barrel. Not even one of the tiny ones either. This was a haul worth some  _ serious _ G. He attaches the floatation device, and pulls it to haul up. Mal looks surprised to see it, but obediently scrambles to his feet to aid him in hauling it closer to the back of Gramps’ deck area.

“Well, at least we’re living up to that contract,” Mal muses, and Rex can feel how jittery he is, even with something to focus on as he helps haul the furniture up. Rex smiles up at him, squeezes his hand.

“Yeah, we will,” he agrees fondly, brushes his fingers against a shoulder. After a few moments to make  _ sure _ Mal was okay, he goes back to the probe and fiddles with it. It pings off a few different locations, and Rex blinks, surprised. That was a  _ lot _ of pings.

Well. No rest for the wicked, Rex thinks cheerfully, rolls up his metaphorical sleeves.

* * *

Jin had not moved from his position by Lora’s side since he’d heard the news. Hoar frost had encased the room in a thick layer of brittle ice, ready to impale any unwary fool who dared tread into the shrine.

Akhos wasn’t sure what to do. The day had started off relatively normal; he’d tuned up Oberona, taken care to survive whatever breakfast Patroka had decided to try, ate Jin’s delicious meal, and then…

He’d looked for Malos. It had only been a month, he’d thought. After all, every month, he checked, ever faithful to Jin’s request. They’d been hopeful that soon, the currents would bring him to a fairly safe salvaging location much like the Aegis, and then they would have been able to catch both in one fell swoop. Today had been his regular checkup, but that had…

A fading light, slowly dissolving into the sea of Ether as Oberona tracked him, the body slowly, but surely, being carried southwards towards several large Titans. Argentum, Gormott, and Tantal were all in that area, and it wasn’t unlikely that from there that one could make their way to Indol. Akhos rubs away at a stress-induced headache. His temples pulse in steady rhythm, a migraine working it’s solid way to the forefront of his head. He couldn’t  _ believe _ anyone made the dive. Something like that, of that  _ depth, _ would require…

His brain screeches to a halt.

A Salvager. A  _ good _ one, likely in employ of one of the two Titan-states or the Argentum Guild. He abandons the comforting darkness of his room, pace picking up as he quickly strides his way through the halls to his usual strategy room. Once inside, he slams the door, locks it before pulling up the Monoceros’s real-time display of salvage routes.

It didn’t take him long to pinpoint the coordinates, but after a long, exhaustive bout of physics calculations and margin of error, Akhos sat back, blows a breath out.

Humans were so  _ squishy, _ he thinks uncharitably. A dive of that caliber with proper Salvager gear was doable, but that area was notorious for having creatures that would gleefully  _ eat _ anything that so much as moved funny. The idea of a Salvager willingly subjecting themselves to such risk wasn’t unusual - those in the profession as a whole did happen to be quite… adventurous.

(He closes his thoughts to the laughter and the smiles; the warmth along their bond as his Driver tossed themselves off a high cliff, ready for the next thrill of the dive.)

But most Salvagers would not dare to incur such danger, even for a thrill of a few minutes’ work.

One would have to be on a  _ job _ to dare take a dangerous salvage like that.

That was a start, at least. He could research Salvage jobs with the best of them and winnow down who had gone out in that timeframe. Not to mention, he’d also have to track  _ every _ single person who had contact with them - pirates were not an uncommon sight among the well-known Salvage Routes.

Fuck.

Malos was so  _ inconvenient. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Loras were harmed in the making of this chapter.


	8. Concession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contracts are upheld and some unpleasant things come to light.
> 
> Content Warning: Failed Sexual Assault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **PLEASE READ:** I will be tagging it up above as well, put please note that this chapter _does_ contained attempted (not completed) sexual assault against a minor. If that discomforts you, please skip the lines starting with **"No filthy Blades"** to **"stuff of _legends_ "**. I will be updating tags of course, as promised.

As Rex watches Bana speed away with the barrel, Mal’s hand settles against the small of his back.

“I’m starting to think there’s something either illegal or dangerous in those barrels,” Mal comments idly, the two departing with their wares. Rex can see the pained look on Gramps’ face, but he swallows, keeps his eyes forward. Mal’s even stride falters slightly. “You… you don’t have to keep doing this for me,” Mal offers quietly. “He’s still your family.” Rex shakes his head, more determined than ever.

“You deserve someone in your corner,” he says fiercely. “Someone should have looked out for you.” His tone makes Gramps flinch again, but Mal looks… happy. A little surprised around the edges, but undeniably  _ pleased. _ The boy squeezes his hand, and Mal smiles back at him, wobbly but there.

“Thanks,” he murmurs shyly. “C’mon. Let’s haul what we have in and get a good stall. There’s probably one somewhere.” Mal shrugs off his embarrassment, just as Rex turns to face forward.

One of the boxes gives a suspicious rustle, and the sight of Kiki making like a bandit makes Rex groan, annoyed.

“Bugger  _ me,” _ Rex groans, to Mal’s amusement. “You go get set up, I’ll see to it she doesn’t get too far,” the boy says quietly. Once he hears Mal’s acknowledgement, Rex immediately bounds over the heads of the watching dock-mates, Rex dipping and weaving through the crowd at his best pace, slowly overtaking the burdened Kiki.

He rolls, reaches out to snatch his salvage from her, easily bouncing to his feet.

“For someone who likes to claim others as thieves, you’re doing an awful lot of purse-cutting yourself,” Rex says bitingly. The Nopon startles, jitters back.

“Kiki taking rightful profits!” She stamps a tiny foot, and Rex snorts.

“The only reason I ever let you get away with it to begin with was because I didn’t have a partner to watch my wares. Guess what?” Rex leans in, grins wide. “Now I do. I’m not letting you get away with it any longer. You’ve nearly cost me my ranking, and you know how important that is for my profession.” Seeing Kiki open her mouth, he lifts a foot in warning, and she zips it. “Don’t make me do this again Kiki.” Satisfied that the bratty Nopon would behave, Rex makes to leave, only for Kiki to attempt to intercept him again. Rex stumbles, nearly lands flat on his face and drops his precious cargo.

This time, Rex doesn’t bother with niceness, and  _ kicks _ her, angles the kick up low so it catches her mostly without pain, sending to Nopon indignantly flying, a graceless act that she bears without any sense of decorum.

“One of these days,” he grumbles under his breath, “I’ll figure out how she manages to stay at the guild without pissing the Chairman off.” One of the nearby Salvagers stops laughing long enough to offer him a thumbs up, and he wryly rolls his eyes back.

“Triple goal score there Rex! I see you haven’t skipped your leg days!” The Salvager teases, and Rex rolls his eyes again.

“With all the swimming I do?” he snorts in amusement. “It’ll be a cold day in Mor Ardain before I let that happen, mate,” Rex jokes, and his fellow Salvager cackles, allows him to return to an amused and exasperated Mal.

“I saw her go flying,” Mal compliments, and he blushes shyly. “Heck of a kick you’ve got,” his Blade teases, before accepting the burden and briskly wheeling their prize off to the Salvager’s Market Floor.

Luck graces them, and Rex is able to pull up a relatively decent storage room to unload all his wares and inspect them before listing them for sale.

The sun was only just starting to set, and that meant Rex only had at most an hour to sort through everything. Briskly, Rex sorts the dross from the gold, and even sets aside a handful of them for himself to go through later. Some of this particular gear would come in handy for his suit. A multiple canister attachment would allow him to make deeper dives.

But then he’d have to also upgrade his suit’s pressure control… dammit.

He shakes himself out of his reservation, realizes he’s sorted most of it all out, and Mal is looking at him in mild concern. The boy grins up at him. “I’m fine, Mal,” he reassures, and the Blade eyes him dubiously.

“Are you  _ absolutely _ sure? We still have some time left to us, if you need to collect yourself.” His concern is so unbearably sweet that Rex instinctively goes to hug him, the Blade giving a surprised and faintly embarrassed noise.

“You’re the best, Mal,” he tells his Blade with full fondness, Mal’s cheeks turning a bright red even as he quietly and affectionately offers him a hug back. “Just thinking about all the upgrades I’m going to have to do to my suit - it’ll cost a bit in fees for them to test-run it all, especially now that I can’t really risk myself and all,” he tells his embarrassed-looking Blade. Mal’s expression softens with fondness.

“You’re something else,” he tells the boy affectionately. “Now, c’mon. Everything sorted? I’ll load up and we can sell your wares.” Rex laughs a bit, hugs Mal again.

“ _ Our _ wares, you silly Blade,” Rex says with warm enthusiasm. “And yes, let’s do get on with it - I want to prepare for our trip to see Auntie!” He beams up at Mal, who looks deeply amused by him.

“Oh alright.  _ Our _ wares, silly Driver of mine,” Mal replies in good humor, and the two take their wares out to their table, Mal arranging them as he saw fit, the two negotiating prices quickly under their breath to one another before setting up their final table.

Leaning back, Rex settles in to enjoy the show.

* * *

Malos can feel his Driver’s amusement with every sale, the attitude so different to his typical desire for fair play that had him blinking in wonderment.

_ Fair play in money only ensures I have no food to eat, _ Rex had told him quietly, and he’d understood immediately. It annoyed him, however, that the greed of the unworthy were so cruel as to leave Rex in such poor hands. But he supposed that was the nature of humans. If Rex wasn’t his, he’d doubt them all, surely. Humans were petty and often foolish - his Driver is no exception.

But from his Driver, it was considerably more enchanting than annoying.

Must have been just one of those Driver things. Malos looks over at his Driver when the boy’s body stiffens, a thin thread of unease curling up their bond as he sits properly, expression flickering  _ fast _ to polite and respectful.

“Rex.” The speaker greets with a glance at Malos, their brow raised in curious inquiry. “I saw you updated your records at the Leftherian Union Branch to list a partner.” He’s older than the average Salvager, Malos realizes with a blink. A younger figure steps out behind him, and he sizes both of them up, assesses how much danger they are to his Driver.

The elderly man was on in years, with a stooped back and a weathered face wrinkled from sun, sea, and overall sour disposition. His cloak shielded his body from the chill of the Cloud Sea at night, his uniform below heavy and bulky to weigh him down. Gnarled hands held onto a steel cane, and the man’s gimlet eyes meet his - they’re heavy with disapproval.

“Oh come off it,” the other one speaks, and Malos would eat his shiny new weapon if the boy wasn’t a Salvager at some point. Lean, whipcord strength and a slim-fit figure matched the sweet, youthful exuberance on his face. “Rex followed protocol, Boss. And judging by the haul, the partner’s done him some good!” Malos likes the boy a little more than his ‘Boss’, and Rex gives the boy a surprised look.

“Draven?” He sounds surprised. “I heard about your accident,” Rex says in light concern, and the boy grins wryly.

“News travels fast around Argentum as always,” Draven chuckles, lifts his pant leg up. Malos feels sympathy wash him at the sight of the prosthesis. “Turned out one of my crew was a bit more light-fingered than we thought, and he was angling to take over. Lost m’leg when he tried to shove me off the ship and I ended up foot-to-mouth with one particularly hungry bugger.” The boy explains for Malos’s benefit.

“I’m sorry to hear,” Malos manages to find some sympathy. “They did catch the thief, I hope?” He asks, and the boy grins, thumb running across his nose as he beams.

“Yep! He didn’t get far at all, and he’s facing a pretty long stint in Mor Ardain for attempted murder and embezzling. Shame it cost me my leg, but hey! I’ve got my pension, so I’m good!” His warm cheer reminded Malos of Rex, and he wondered if most Salvagers were like his Driver.

“We’re doing gear inspections,” the older man grumbles, and Rex blinks at the man, curiosity filling their bond. “You can’t rely on your Blade to tell you if you’re in danger,” he says sourly, and Rex’s expression turns slightly cold.

“Mal is my partner now,” he says flatly, and Mal is surprised by the venom in his usually placid and warm tone. He reaches a hand to lightly brush Rex’s shoulder, and the boy relaxes; flashes him a bright grin.

“Don’t mind this old goat,” Draven says cheerfully. “He’s just got sumpkin seeds in his craw is all.” The old man in question glares at Draven. “But seriously, come by and get your gear checked out. If you’ve got any questions or you’re curious about something, we’ll be able to help.” Draven’s eyes move to Malos, and he meets the bright, friendly blue eyes. “And it’s nice to meet you, Mal. I’m glad Rex has a partner to keep him safe. If you’ve got any questions on being a Salvager’s Blade, we’ve got a handful of Partner Blades that hang out with us when their Drivers aren’t at work.” The boy clamps a hand on the old goat’s shoulder; squeezes. “Don’t forget to drop by!” he waves warmly, drags the other man out of view.

Malos at least waits for the man to get out of earshot before commenting, “I don’t like that old man.” He says, blunt. Rex winces in sympathy, pats his hand.

“You won’t get any argument from me,” the boy admits. “I mean, he’s good at his job, but don’t get me wrong - I don’t like him. He’s  _ creepy. _ Always thinks any salvager younger than twenty that’s in the top thousand Salvagers across Alrest should be forced to wait until our ‘betters’ outrank us again,” Rex rolls his eyes so hard, Malos is vaguely surprised he doesn’t strain something. The whole sentence sounds… wrong.

“Betters?” He asks, that particular phrase sticking to him the most. Rex looks distinctly uncomfortable.

“Let’s discuss this when we’re alone, yeah? I don’t want anyone to overhear.” He can agree to that easily enough, nods. “For now, let’s finish selling, and then I actually want to talk to Draven - I salvaged up some stuff that might be good for a gear upgrade.” Malos nods along, and both of them stop to look up at Annette, the young woman holding a hefty bag of G.

“Your payment, as agreed upon. Thirty-five percent and the proof of sale, for your records,” she hands both over to Rex, and the young Salvager swallows, opens the pressed paper to read it.

The boy gapes. Swallows, and hands him the paper. Malos raises an eyebrow, and Rex nods weakly at his silent inquiry.

“The Chairman was pleased with the haul in the Barrel, and it’s contents sold for a greater price than anticipated. Your cut as requested is within.”

Malos, having given up on reading the paper, quickly goes through to count the entire sum.

Malos blinks. “Well shit,” Malos decides, tucks it away safely. “The amounts match what's on paper,” he confirms for his Driver’s sake, and the boy beams lightly up at him, a warmth of thanks over their bond. He smiles faintly back. “Thank the Chairman for us,” Malos says politely, and the red-headed girl (wasn’t her hair  _ blue _ two weeks ago?) nods and smiles.

“My pleasure,” she says politely. “Have a good day Rex, Mal.” Annette bows, and walks away, leaves Malos looking at her in confusion.

Rex, clever boy he is, notices his distraction. “She changes her hair color all the time,” Rex offers him with a smile. “I don’t see any reason why she does it so much, but maybe she just likes it?” Rex shrugs. Malos reaches out to ruffle dark brown hair, laughs at his indignant squawk.

“Sure, sure Rex,” he chuckles, before turning his attention back to their wares.

They wrap up quickly after that, and Rex takes the wares he’d decided to keep, carries them in his arms. Cautiously, Malos pulls him back. Rex gives him a curious, if slightly confused look. Glancing around, Malos looks around for the fluff-brained menace.

“Just be careful. Kiki could be around, and I’m not watching you get hurt because she’s an idiot.”

Rex giggles at Mal’s frustrated impatience with the Nopon, obvious sympathy on youthful features. However, to Malos’ relief, he pays more attention to where he’s walking, delicately stepping through the crowd as Malos tucks away the large sum in his inner pocket. They’d need to make sure and get most of this sent off to Fonsett soon - this much liquid G might have been good if Rex had a plan to use it, but that wasn’t the case - at least, not that his Driver had told him. He’d ask later.

* * *

“So you want to use a dual cylinder chamber for your air canisters?” Draven asks, just to be sure, as he twists the device in his hands. Rex nods, can feel how Mal is hovering in the wings, annoyed and angry that he wasn’t allowed in the secured area Salvagers had just for discussing such secretive things as their gear.

Rex had tried, but the old goat had insisted - some rubbish about Blades not being loyal or something stupid like that. He’d complained, and Draven had tried, bless him, but the Old Goat had been insistent.

“No filthy Blades in my consultation room,” he had growled, and that was that.

Draven’s voice cuts into his wandering thoughts. “You’ll need better material for your suit. Granted, you got a pretty hefty bonus today, so it shouldn’t hit your purse-strings quite as hard.”

Old Goat snorts, and Rex twitches just the tiniest bit. Draven catches his eye and both boys share a commiserating look together. Sure, the Old Goat had been an S Ranked Salvager. Everyone and their gran knew that. Didn’t make him anything worth the time since he’d been out of his prime for nearly just as long.

“You got anything I can test-touch? Get a feel for the fabric, durability check, etc.,” he asks, and is rewarded with Draven tapping his fingers on the desk, a rapid tempo that stuttered to silence as he nods.

“I’ll have to head down to the back - one of the ladies in the seamstress’s guild wanted to test it for some of their dancers - some noble from Indol wanted a ship of dancing girls to escort him around Alrest.” Draven rolls his eyes. “Give me a Salvager who knows what they want  _ any _ day of the week over that. Pray that I get it out of their hands without a wailing woman dogging my feet every step of the way,” he grins, and Rex snorts.

“A half and half like you?” he teases, and Draven feigns offense, hand to his chest.

“ _ Ouch, _ Rex, I didn’t know you had it in ya,” he laughs, and with a wave, Draven leaves him alone with the Old Goat.

A chill prickles up his spine. Rex glances up to see the Old Goat’s eyes on him. He does his best to ignore the feeling, ears open for the slightest change. His bond with Mal too - it had turned tight as a drum, vibrating from his nervous tension and Mal’s own worry.

“You shouldn’t have gotten a Blade,” the Old Goat tells him, and Rex hisses a breath out in as much silence as he dares. “Rotten things never are any good.”

“Mal’s helped me with a larger haul than I’ve ever managed, and he’s not going to leave me to hang,” the boy retorts sharply. Something shuffles closer, and Rex stiffens at the feel of a hand on his shoulder.

“Doesn’t mean he’ll be there forever,” the Old Goat says, hand sliding down. Rex moves without thinking of the consequences, hand immediately gripping the bony wrist of the older man.

“Don’t do that again,” Rex says, shoves his body back. The grip that gets him this time is harder; Rex has to squirm to get a hand on the man’s wrist.

“You should be grateful; Leftherian spawn never work well in the Salvaging business,” he growls. “I was the best Salvager for twenty years - you could go far with my tutelage, be better -” Rex felt the man’s hand slide further again, and even as he felt himself pale, Rex would  _ not _ let it go any further.

_ Crack. _

The old man’s howl was the stuff of  _ legends. _

* * *

Already? Angela had thought Malos would have restrained himself further than this before causing such trouble. XII is on her shoulder, preening her hair as she eyes the area Malos had scorched. The damage was clean - a single blazing purple slash through hinges to open the door and get to the target inside.

Said target was… Heavens. The Head of the Salvager’s Union Guild, Anders. Purple flames flickered against one neatly cut-off wrist, smoking faintly even as the wound was sealed from Malos’s destructive power. Her gaze narrows. Malos was surprisingly single-target. He’d touched nothing but the door and the Union Guild Leader. Her eyes flick over, and finally, she catches sight of Malos, body folded around a complaining -

Oh.  _ Oh. _

Rex is squirming in Malos’ arms, the boy looking up at him with a cross between annoyance and affection. “I’m fine, really!” The boy protests for what she would bet is the eighth or ninth time in a row. “You kept him from doing anything else, promise!”

“Anything like what?” Angela asks him, and Rex turns to face her, a little wide eyed. Malos’s eyes were burning with purple flames, seething outrage as he nuzzles his Driver, protective fury  _ burning _ under his skin.

No matter what Rex said - it had been too close. Nothing would explain the Blade’s hyper-possessive actions nor his worried clinginess.

“The Old Goat was being grabby. So I broke his wrist, and he tried to go after me with the other one.” Rex rattles the information off without even a flinch, before wincing.  _ “Ouch,  _ Mal you’ve got to cling a little less!”

Malos’s voice is barely contained as he seethes, “I should have never let you out of my sight.” The boy grimaces, settles down into his Blade’s arms, wraps his own arms around in a loose hug. “I shouldn’t have listened to him and stayed outside.”

Before Angela can reassure both of them, a new voice cuts in, and she nearly groans.

“Rex?!? What the hell happened!?” Draven moves as quickly as his injuries allow, and the boy looks between them all, before coming to the same conclusion as she had. “Bloody  _ ‘ell, _ I shouldn’t have left you with him,” the boy complains, and that catches her ear.

“Has this happened before?” she asks sharply, and Draven gives her an annoyed look.

Sighs. “I’ve only heard rumors,” the young man admits, runs a hand through his hair. “I’m too old for him, I guess, and I don’t ever let him be alone with anyone. It’s been nearly three months since he started training me to take over the guild - I guess I just got careless, you know? No reports of it, but given that I was following him day and night, I thought they were just rumors.” The boy glares at the old man when he tries to splutter something. “Oh suck it up. This is why you don’t like Blades, huh? Because they know when you’re doing something wrong?” Draven shakes his head.

Malos doesn’t release his grip upon Rex’s slim hips, and the boy huffs, gives up on escape.

“I think that a quick exam would be best,” Angela decides upon, and the slightly mulish expression that crosses Malos’ face disappears when he realizes it gets him (and more importantly, Rex) away from Anders. “As I understand it, your guild has their own medical team, yes?”

“Yeah, we’ve got one,” Draven agrees. “Send me whatever bill you have to for them - I’ll pay it up front.” Angela nods distractedly, watches Draven hand Rex something and touches his shoulder, murmuring apologies to both Blade and Driver.

“One day out of trouble,” she says with an exasperated smile. “Is that too much to ask?” she tells them both, and Rex gives her a wobbly smile.

It had  _ definitely _ been too close, if the way Malos protectively keeps himself between Rex and Anders is any clue. They’re quiet until the doors of the infirmary close behind them, Rex unlimbering from Malos’s tight, worried grip and switching to a hug. Malos wavers, before fiercely hugging his human, fingers carding lightly through dark brown strands.

“Taking his hand was too light of a punishment,” Malos grumbles, and internally, Angela agrees with him. Rex takes a minor exception, swats his arm.

“You shouldn’t have taken his hand to begin with!” Rex chides, though his eyes are conflicted. “But thank you - I’m glad you got in when you did,” the boy averts the verbal explosion with a touch of his hands to a cheek. “Besides, I did kind of break his wrist,” Rex admits awkwardly, makes the Blade laugh in honest amusement. Angela raises a brow. “He was being creepy, putting his hands on me!” The boy shivers, and Malos pulls him back into the hug.

“Well,” Malos drawls lightly, “he’s missing a whole hand now - I’d love to see him try again without me taking the other one.”

“You know,” Angela interrupts, tries not to smile when they both stare up at her, “I should reprimand you, but given my personal belief that such punishment was a bit  _ light _ , you won’t hear one from me.” Her smile is thin, and Malos tilts his head her way, blatant respect in his gaze before he turns it back towards Rex, dips down to fuss and worry over his Driver with a little less concern.

“We can stay on Gramps for the night,” Rex says to Malos, and the Blade tilts his head, a frown tugging at his lips.

“Are you sure?” He asks, and Rex smiles - it’s hard and brittle, and Angela wonders at it.

“He wants to make it up to us? Yes.”

There was a story in there, and Angela wasn’t sure if she wanted to know what it was.


	9. Shelter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rex and Mal learn that not all grudges are laid to rest so easily.

“We’re staying here for the night,” Rex tells him shortly. Malos is a silent presence, flitting worriedly around his grandson, gray eyes instead burning a brilliant purple. He glances up to meet Azurda’s eyes, before looking away, back to Rex.

“Rex...” His attempt to speak to his grandson is curtailed, yet again, by the boy in question.

“Not tonight, Gramps. I’m tired and bloody pissed off, okay?” He’s rubbing at his eyes, and Malos is flitting around him, fussing quietly enough that he can’t hear the words. “What a day,” he gripes affectionately to his Blade, who smiles down at him. “At least you prevented me from taking a header straight into the bar,” Rex grumbles. “I’d hate to go diving half-pissed from last night.”

Malos’ touch is gentle. “Let’s get you to bed. You had one pint - that should help you rest easy.” Rex pulls a face at Mal, but obediently clambers onto his back. Malos makes him sit, ducks into the boy’s half-bed, and ducks back out carrying unwashed linens. As he watches, he can see how Malos sets a fresh bedsheet out, and airs out the small sleeping quarters.

Rex bades him goodnight, ducks in. Malos is out a little while longer, washes the linens until they’re clean and sets them to dry, hanging the linens delicately before giving him a polite nod and joining his Driver.

There was only one thought on his mind as he watched the whole scene.

_ What on earth happened to my grandson? _

* * *

Rex wakes up to Mal making like a rock, his Blade curled tight around him. Mal’s mouth is pressed against his shoulder, a sleepy hum leaving him.

“Early?” He asks, tone lightly teasing. Mal nuzzles him, a curl of a smile warming his lips.

“Three hours before sunrise. If we want to transfer money over for your aunt,” Mal hums softly, “Now would be ideal - we made a lot of money, and she’s prone to yelling. I’d hate for any of that money to go missing in transit.” Rex grumbles under his breath, before squirming lightly to nudge his heavy Blade off him. Mal smirks affectionately, runs his fingers down Rex’s hip before he lets him go.

“At least you’re not making like a rock this time,” Rex sighs, and Mal grins at him.

“A shiny rock, you mean?”

Rex smacks his shoulder for that one. “You’re terrible,” he says, and Mal chuckles, low and deep.

“Hardly my fault you thought I was a shiny rock,” Mal teases, slowly sits up and lets him wiggle free. “You don’t go anywhere without me,” Mal adds quietly. “Draven seems… honest enough,” he admits, and Rex smiles up at him, strokes a hand over his cheek fondly, “But that older guildmaster… I won’t put it past him to find a way to make your life miserable.”

“He can try,” Rex agrees. “He’s the head of the salvaging guild, sure, but he’s an ass. He’s always ignored Leftherians like me until recently. Plus, after this? Sure, some will want to stay in his good books, but a majority of them are around my age.” Mal startles.

“Young?” He asks in wariness, as Rex slips free and gets dressed for the day.

“I started work around eight-ish?” Rex wiggles his hand this way and that, and Mal gives a quiet whine of worry. “I didn’t start diving until I was ten, though. Salvaging is hard work - I spent my first two years working as a heavy lifter and learning how to dive off the Leftherian coast to build up some actual muscle. The water around there can be tough, so I had to learn how to ride currents, and how to work fast in pretty much do or die scenarios.” He brushes a hand over Mal’s shoulder in reassurance. “Don’t worry about back then. The really dangerous spots I wasn’t allowed to train at until I got my after sunset license.” The two step out into the dark air, and Mal immediately steps closer, his warmth a relief in the chill air.

“I’m glad you made it out okay,” Mal says sincerely.

Gramps is still asleep, head tucked in under a wing when the both of them leave, and Rex eyes him, wonders quietly, “Where  _ did _ you hide everything, by the way?” the boy asks him, and Mal grins.

“In my jacket. I got bills instead of carrying around coins,” he reassures Rex, and the boy blinks.

“When?” Rex asks, visibly bemused, before understanding dawns on his face. “Oh wait, nevermind. The Salvager’s till was next to the door - you would have had time then,” Rex shakes his head. “Wow, I must be really frazzled if I forgot that.” Mal rubs his shoulder in genuine affection, nudges him off to the center of Argentum’s trade guild.

He tries not to think about how bristly Mal is, how sharp his glare becomes when some older Salvagers draw near with decidedly displeased expressions. All it takes is one look at Mal and they’re instantly turning around and walking in the other direction.

“Meeeeh Rex-Rex!” At least his usual partner is happy to see him. “Heard what happened to Nasty Salvager Guild Leader!” Her headwings flap, and he gives a sheepish grin.

“Already?” He winces a little, and the Nopon giggles at him.

“Rex-Rex and Blade friend brave! Nasty Guild Master responsible for loss of many good Salvagers.” The Nopon leans in as if imparting secret wisdom, and Rex blinks, leans in. “Rex-Rex too young to remember, but Old Nasty Guild Master made promising Salvager jump off building onto solid foundation! Poor Salvager went splat - talk of guild for months! Sad day for nice boy Draven when he got injured. Much rejoicing among older Salvagers with little humanpons! Rumors were getting louder of abuse and Guild looking for replacement fast!” Lightly, they pat his arm in sympathy as Rex manages a stunned blink.

“Uh… right.” Rex swallows. “Can we transfer some money home?” he asks, and the Nopon eyes him, before giving a happy nod.

“No fees for Rex-Rex! Grand service you and handsome Blade-friend have made Nopon friends! Profits have dropped thanks to Nasty Guild Master. Nopon will know your name as Salvager who saved Guild!” She flaps her head-wings at him again, affectionately pats his face, and doesn’t blink when Mal hands her the bills, promises to send them along right-quick for him.

“Nopon are fucking  _ ruthless,” _ Mal comments quietly once they’re away from the till and her sharp ears. Rex gives a sheepish-looking smile up at his Blade.

“They can get pretty nasty, yeah,” Rex agrees. “They’re cute, but they’re not above weaponizing that cuteness,” the boy admits. “It’s good if you can make friends with them, but they’re known for being dangerous, when they’re not off doing a hare-brained scheme,” The boy adds cheekily. Mal snorts at the comment. “But Nopon can get really cruel when crossed, so it’s wise to err on the side of caution as long as possible.” Rex says, recalls the few missteps he’d seen..

“I’m glad I have you to be my guide,” Mal says gracefully, and Rex blushes at him, takes Mal’s hand and squeezes.

* * *

There’s an undeniable tension from Rex’s Grandfather when they return, and Malos neatly tugs his Driver closer, rubs his thumb over the boy’s bicep.

“Might I speak to you… Mal?” The hesitation makes Rex tense, and the boy looks up at him, worry on his face. He can feel how hopeful Rex is for a peaceful resolution, to  _ finally _ get to have them both on good terms at last. He squeezes his Driver gently.

“I suppose,” he says cautiously, tired and faintly annoyed, but his Driver’s hope is no little thing to toss aside. Malos is ready to let Rex shoo him away at any moment, but looks up at the Titan with wariness.

“I’m sorry.” Unlike before, there is no hesitation - no self-righteousness. It is an uncompromising apology. “You and I… have met, a long time ago, when I was a much younger Titan.” Rex peers around him, suspicious, and he lightly ruffles his Driver’s hair. “That time is not one I enjoy fondly… we were on opposite sides of a conflict, and it has colored much of my perceptions of you.”

Malos frowns. What had he been like? Who  _ was _ he, to have… he shakes his head, comes back to the present.

“It’s not an excuse.” Malos decides on saying. The Titan bows his head; a concession.

“No. It’s not.” he agrees without hesitation. “Blades are different from Driver to Driver. But I had only ever known of you at your worst.”

Malos sighs, scrubbing a hand against his face wearily. What had he been like? Had he been a monster? Had he...the thought makes him feel faintly ill. Had he  _ killed _ children?

The thought of Rex - laying cold and dead and victim to his fire almost makes him fall over. Only Rex’s worried hand on his shoulder stills and relaxes him.

“At some point, we’ll have to sit down and talk about it - who I was,” Malos tells the Titan, who furrows his brows in concern. “I… I need to know what I was.” He blows out a soft, almost explosive sigh, before turning away and giving Rex a soft smile. “It’s still early. We should head out, start working on the next load.” Glancing back, Malos takes note of what he guesses to be some older Salvagers.

Winces. Rex does the same. “Sounds like an all day job is just what the healer ordered,” Rex says chipperly.

Oh yeah. Did it ever.

* * *

Azurda can feel himself relax as Malos fusses over Rex’s suit.

“There’s nothing wrong with your suit that I can tell, but let’s do a test dive first,” Malos says worriedly. “If someone tampered with it because of what happened earlier, it’s best to know now.” Malos’ fingers stroke down Rex’s hair, and the boy smiles indulgently at his Blade.

“Such a worrywart,” he sighs fondly, but troops off to do exactly that, gearing up with but a minor grumble of complaint. His grandson had gone back to being his chipper self once more towards him now that the issues had been seemingly resolved - for the moment - chattering away about all of the lovely things Mal and he had done.

A little shame fills him at the realization that he had not trusted his grandson properly. Rex had the uncanny knack of growing upon someone, making them better. It seemed that he had failed to take that into account when observing Malos, who had warmed quite nicely to his Driver. Rex endures some more fussing from Malos, before laughing and giving his Blade a gentle hug that he stiffens at before relaxing fully, enveloping his Driver in a tight hug.

“You’re terrible,” Malos says, voice affectionate. Rex rolls his eyes, laughs.

“Says  _ you,” _ Rex pokes him in the chest fondly, before wiggling free, much to Malos’s gentle protests. “Now c’mon, let me do my dive. We can talk more after while we’re on the way to the next salvage site.”

Malos hugs him one more time before letting go, grumpy and worried, but calmer. Once Rex was under the sea, he stayed next to the end of the deck for a moment longer, before relaxing and going back to his usual seat.

“If you got a question, out with it,” Malos says wryly.

“What happened to my grandson?” Azurda asks, and Malos looks up at him, raises a brow. “I  _ know _ my Grandson, Malos. He will pretend everything is fine and ignore something that might result in his injury if it won’t worry me. What happened? Angela said I would have to ask you if I wanted an answer.” Malos hums deeply, says nothing as he leans back, expression thoughtful.

“Are you sure you want to hear it? It’s… distressing,” Malos warns, and the Titan firms his resolve.

“I must. He’s my grandson.” It doesn’t take more than five minutes for him to regret that.

* * *

“What in the bloody blue hell?” Malos’s voice is sharp, and Rex looks up, alarmed. The door of their room is blasted off of it’s hinges. Rex stumbles over, alarmed as he inspects the inside. The furniture was smashed, their leftover items missing.

“Rex-Rex!” The distressed cry of the proprietor makes him turn, his expression sharp as broken glass. “Meeeeh. Mally is safe with Rex-Rex. Tania glad!” The innkeeper leans in, and Rex does as well. “Healer Angela says for Rex-Rex and Mally to visit posthaste!” Rex turns his face up, and Mal, ever dutiful, does not disappoint.

“Mally?” he questions, unimpressed. Rex giggles, for the moment amused by the nickname. “Sheesh. You Nopon sure have some nerve,” Mal grouses slightly, before shaking his head. “C’mon Rex - we should see what Angela needs from us.” He lightly steers him away, the boy’s eyes lingering on the destroyed door.

The healer’s eyes warm up at the sight of them, and to Rex’s surprise, she wraps them both in a hug.

“I’m glad to see you two made it back safely,” she says softly, ushers them in. Rex blinks at the room. Their stuff was neatly packed into boxes, and Mal’s bag of crystals is safely tucked on top. “I caught wind of the retaliation,” Angela explains without explaining anything as usual. “I moved your things to my quarters. No one sane would dare enter a healer’s quarters.”

“That makes sense,” Rex says cautiously, gives Mal a quick hug until the Blade relaxes in his arms. “What’s going on?”

“Retaliation,” Mal says darkly, and Rex blinks at the feeling of regret and anger through their bond. “Someone took revenge on that Old Goat’s behalf for what I did.”

Oh boy. Danger.

“If you hadn’t been there we both know what he would have done to me, so forgive me if I don’t particularly care.” Mal, caught between another regretful comment and blaming himself, turns to face him in genuine surprise. “He would have assaulted me, and I wouldn’t have had anyone to keep me safe,” Rex reminds his Blade gently. Mal’s expression shifts through several different ranges of fury before it settles on resigned relief.

“That’s… true,” he admits ruefully. Rex squeaks when he’s dragged into a hug. “We should step out for a while - you hit quota already this month?” The boy melts into his hug affectionately, cuddles his Blade. Mal was so sweet, worrying about him.

“Yeah. That barrel made all of quota, so they’re worth the investment.” Rex’s voice is muffled by Mal’s shirt, pulls back. “And I can head to the Leftheria branch anyways. They don’t like the Guild Head much.”

Angela clears her throat, and Rex pulls back to look at her.

“I did some digging based on what the Nopon that handled your money said. She spoke a little more to me. The Salvager that jumped turned out to be from Leftheria. There’s no love lost for the Union Guild Leader. You can lay low there, store whatever valuables you want to sell, and come back when I send you the all clear. It’s unlikely that Draven will allow him to come to Leftheria, and the news has spread.”

Mal feels relieved from the bond, but Rex can feel himself pale.

“We need to leave, now,” Rex says hurriedly, and Mal looks down at him, frowning. “Leftherian Salvagers make up at least a quarter of all Salvagers in the Union. The longer I’m here, the more likely  _ everything _ is going to go tits-up.” Mal’s worried expression deepens.

“I’m not following,” Mal admits, and Angela, looking up from her omnipresent clipboard, is also frowning.

“I’m not either,” she agrees with Mal, sets her clipboard down to observe him.

Rex gives a bittersweet smile as he points out, “This is the  _ second _ time a Leftherian Salvager has been attacked by the Union Guild Leader. We’re a small branch, so we’re taken advantage of a lot, but two assaults in less than a decade? If there isn’t a Leftherian strike within the next three weeks, I’ll eat my dive suit. I need to get out of here before someone tries to kill me to try and prevent my story going from rumor to fact. If that happens, it won’t be a strike. Leftheria as a whole will go  _ mad.” _

Mal’s fingers grip his hips tightly, and the boy winces, worry and terror mingling in the bond with his partner. “We’re definitely going. I’m not losing you,” Mal says, voice coldly wrathful. “I’ll burn this whole damn place to the waterline if they so much as  _ dare _ to try,” his voice drops to a hiss, eyes burning a vivid, unforgiving purple. Hints of bright pink flicker in the depths, and Rex hugs him tight, knows his Blade isn’t even slightly joking.

Angela looks pale, and he gives her a worried smile, ushers his partner away with soft brushes of his fingers, coaxes his partner into helping him haul up their few belongings to go.

“We need to burn Ether, Gramps. No time to explain,” Rex adds hastily when the Titan turns his large head to look at him and Mal loading the few boxes. Mal nudges him into the cabin, and he goes, willing to concede to his Blade’s mounting panic. “Mal. Don’t hurt anyone if you can avoid it.  _ Please,” _ Rex adds, and Mal wavers at the heartfelt plea.

“I’ll do my best, but if they try to hurt you...” he warns, and Rex smiles.

“I know. Toolkit of nasty, right? Go. I’ll stay here,” Rex promises, ducks inside to the touch of his Blade’s fingers against his cheek. Mal clears the distance from deck to dock in a single bound, and he’s gone, leaving Rex alone in the cabin. Rex doesn’t dare move once the cabin deck closes, breathes out a faint sigh of worry. Mal was overprotective, sure, but Rex wasn’t stupid enough to think that this  _ wasn’t _ a justifed time for his Blade to panic.

It’s a nerve-wracking fifteen minutes, filled only with the occasional shuffle of noise as Mal deposits items on deck, and the worried murmur of Gramps when Mal stops to talk to him. The cabin door opens at the same moment as Gramps takes off, his Blade looking frazzled around the edges as he bounds into the room, scooping Rex up into his grasp.

“The rumor’s already spreading,” Mal tells him, voice thick with nerves. “I didn’t confirm anything, but more than one Salvager was looking to draw blood even without my input.” Rex winces, before wrapping his arms around Mal in reassurance.

“Not your fault,” he promises softly. “If it hadn’t been me, the next youngest Salvager is about twelve. And if it was her, it’d be worse than a riot.” Mal’s grip tightens on him, but Rex sighs, curls up close around his partner.

“I’m okay,” Mal lies through his teeth, and Rex snorts up at him.

“No, you’re not. But it’s okay. I’m not okay either. So you better get used to a couple of hours of hugs,” Rex quips lightly.

Mal’s relieved sigh at  _ that _ speaks volumes, though Rex mercifully doesn’t point it out, instead hugs his Blade tighter.

He needed Mal more than anything right now.


	10. Leftheria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mal and Rex arrive, Akhos learns about the Leftherian struggle, and some overdue questions are answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will not be updating this story next week - instead I'll be adding in a prequel stand-alone story that is part of this series - please go check it out!

Auntie looked  _ juust _ like Rex remembered. “Auntie!” he cries, waves frantically from atop the cabin, Mal’s grip on him unyielding as he prevents his Driver from falling over into the sea. Mal hauls him back, nuzzling him with unspoken worry. “I’m fine, Mal,” he soothes his Blade, turns to hug Mal without question.

“Humor me and don’t put yourself at risk,” Mal grumbles, even as Rex pouts up at him in exasperated affection.

“Love you too Mal,” Rex grouches, leaning into the hug and allowing himself to relax and melt into Mal’s hold until they arrive at shore. Their bond twists a little, affectionate and embarrassed but undeniably pleased.

“Mmm,” his hum is slightly mortified, but mollified by Rex’s affection all the same. “You too,” he mumbles, a bit embarrassed. Rex’s smile is deeply indulgent as he leans in, relaxes against Mal.

“You better expect the inquisition when we land,” Gramps’ voice rumbles fondly. “The town looks a lot better and cleaned up than I thought it might be with all the money you sent.” Rex squirms a little in Mal’s hold, and his Blade obligingly loosens his grip, allows Rex to squirm away, though not without some reluctance.

Rex smiles up at Mal for it anyways, pushes the positive reassurance across their bond so that Mal feels okay with so many unknowns nearby.

“It’s okay Mal. They’re all family. They won’t hurt you,” he reassures softly, and Mal relaxes immediately at his words.

“I’ll trust you,” he murmurs quietly, and Rex beams, far more pleased with himself.

Undocking is an adventure, Rex realizes, when he sees the sheer  _ number _ of people that are behind Auntie on the dock.

“Young man, you have an  _ awful _ lot of explaining to do,” Auntie greets him with a hug anyways, gives Mal one too. His Blade stiffens immediately, his expression flashing to discomfort immediately.

Wisely, Rex intervenes, immediately tugs on her arm and sweeps her into another hug to help Mal get some space.

“Love you too Auntie!” He says the last word a little louder than necessary, and she gets the hint, doesn’t try to hug Mal again. “This is my partner and Blade, Mal. He had a rough time of it before we started working together,” Rex adds, a bit of warning in his tone. Auntie listens to his tone, and offers Mal an apologetic smile.

“My apologies - Rex had sent a letter saying that you were a friend of his, and well, you know how Rex gets, I’m sure,” Auntie says.

Rex reddens, but even more so at Mal’s husky chuckle, the Blade looking down at him with unmistakable fondness before he ruffles Rex’s hair.

“Oh, I have a lot of experience with that,” he agrees, and Rex immediately smacks his Blade on the arm.

“Maaaaal!” he whines, and his partner chuckles, not at all concerned with slandering his good name. “That’s terrible,” Rex grumbles, and everyone has a laugh at his expense.

* * *

“We didn’t have to go.” Malos tells Rex, and his Driver gives him a flat  _ you’re not fooling anyone _ look. The boy makes sure they’re alone before pulling him close. He can smell the scent of Rex’s preferred soap just over the sweet Cloud Sea breeze, and it makes him straighten, heat on his cheeks.

“Malos.” The way Rex says his  _ actual _ name makes Malos swallow. “I’m your Driver. You’re not comfortable yet with that much attention, and as your Driver, I’m going to take care of you, okay?” His mouth presses against the top of Rex’s head, unable to articulate how it felt for him to hear such 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, genuinely touched by Rex’s clear consideration of his comfort level. Rex smiles softly back at him, holds his hand as he drags Malos off somewhere. “... Where are we going, exactly?” Malos asks, gives in to his curiosity. Rex smiles shyly, looks utterly adorable despite the mischievousness of the expression.

“I had a hideout way out here. I haven’t been in a few years, so it’s probably overgrown, but it should be big enough for the two of us at least. We’re going to be here for a while,” Rex adds, “And well, I was thinking we could use a getaway for just us.” Malos feels his cheeks turn bright red at the gentle comment, but he grins all the same, unbearably pleased by the mere thought of how caring his Driver is.

“You still didn’t have to do that either,” Malos admits, and Rex snorts.

“Mal, I’m being nice yeah, but I’m sparing myself too. Fonsett’s a small, hick town with… er.” Rex rubs the back of his head as Malos waits expectantly. “Outdated traditions. Assholes or not though, I’d like for you  _ not _ to set them on fire if they cross the line, you know?”

It doesn’t take him long to fill in the blanks, and he can’t help the laugh as it bubbles up, practically snorts with laughter as he recalls  _ all _ of the things that Rex could be talking about.

“It’s  _ that _ bad?” he chuckles, even more endeared in spite of the less than charitable truth.

“Some of these people make Kiki look friendly in comparison,” is all Rex has to say to that, and Malos lets himself laugh.

The entryway is as Rex had stated earlier - very overgrown. It doesn’t take Malos long to burn the worst of it to cinders, and once inside, he nearly trips over discarded boxes.

“What in the  _ hell _ were you doing here?” Malos asks the blushing teenager.

“I used to do small repair jobs! And there was always scrap parts and stuff left over, so I always took it home! And well, the kids at the orphanage didn’t always understand the no touching rule, so I had to improvise.” Rex’s face is bright red, and Malos can’t help but chuckle fondly.

“What a trouble-maker,” he teases, and Rex huffs, looks away. “I’m guessing you want help to clean and sort all of this junk, huh?” he teases, and Rex plants his hands on small hips, feigns offense.

“This junk has  _ value, _ thanks,” he huffs, before caving and smiling at Malos. “I actually used most of this stuff to cobble together my current dive suit. Since I’m going to be upgrading this soon, I wanted to look through it all and see if there was anything new.” Malos smiles at his Driver, and with a small chuckle, he joins Rex in sorting out his - now  _ their _ \- hideout.

Briefly, he spares a thought for Angela, wonders if the Healer would be safe after her known involvement with them.

* * *

Akhos, of Torna. Angela had expected to see one of them sooner rather than later, but she had - a bit naively, true - expected that Jin himself would have shown. His attachment to Malos was well known to those with the proper spying capabilities. But then again, Jin would not be coming gently. He would tear apart all of Argentum to find his prize, and once he realized it wasn’t here, he would kill the witnesses.

Flamboyant the man might have been, but Akhos was a clever man, with a  _ deadly _ Blade capable of tracking any Ether signature he so wanted. It was through sheer good fortune that she had shuffled both of them off to Leftheria, where they would be far safer. With Salvagers and Merchants alike at one another’s throat, Rex and Malos’ disappearance had gone unnoticed, which was convenient.

XII was not following Akhos - with Oberona as his guide, her beloved corvid Blade would be nigh useless but to alert him of the overt interest Angela had in his search.

And jeopardize her own goals in the meanwhile.

Honestly, he could not have come at a better time. With all the chaos, it was unlikely for his information gathering to bear fruit beyond that of the usual Salvage jobs on the messageboard. But he was not here for that. He was here to find the truth of Malos, to take him back to Jin and start the cycle of hate, of  _ vengeance, _ anew. Her lips are pressed into a deep frown as she observes.

He would need some kind of observation, and with a faint hum, she determines that if there is no other recourse available, she will have to involve herself. A risk, to be sure, but at the same time, she knew very little about this specific member of Torna. The others she had compiled information upon, but of Akhos, precious little was known. He rarely left the Monoceros save for his favored  _ plays _ \- but even so, his dossier was not enough for her to be confident in dissecting him as a potential threat. And so he was - at present - a greater threat than those she had compiled her knowledge of.

“You look lost.” Her tone is polite when he crosses paths with her, expression disturbed. He jolts out of his silence, turns his gaze to her with a wary eye.

“And who might you be?” His tone is far more cultured, but then again, the man adored plays, with a few of his own.

“Angela. I am the chief healer of the Argentum Trade Guild. You came at quite the tumultuous time,” she says mildly. His snort is easily taken for him to be in agreement. “I’m afraid all Salvagers are currently on strike,” she gives a rueful smile, hopes he will buy the lie.

Akhos seems silently considering, and she waits patiently. “Ah, I had noticed the job board had been taken down.” And wasn’t  _ that _ interesting? Only a Salvager would notice a detail like that. She hadn’t thought Akhos the type to enjoy Salvaging work. Though the tidbit about the job board being down  _ was _ new. “Pardon my impudence, but I’ve never heard of a strike so big before. What happened?” Angela gives another awkward-looking smile at him.

“I’m afraid I can’t answer that - I was in charge of treating the patient in question.” Akhos’s expression flickers briefly to frustration. “Why don’t I show you around? It’s not safe, after all, to wander these halls alone.”

The look of frustration on his face only sweetens the deal.

* * *

Akhos was never a man to turn down an ally, temporary as it might have been. Though, given the restlessness of the entire guild, there was as much a chance that she was an enemy as she was an ally. Akhos wanders over to the docks, frowning mildly to himself. If there were not Salvagers furiously muttering in corners, there were Nopon scheming away and gleefully chattering to one another about… something.

Angela seemed to open doors that his mere presence and G does not - despite the anger, all voices cool towards her, and are at least willing to offer a handful of words in greeting, warm or otherwise, towards Akhos. They skirt the edges of conversation on what had riled the Salvagers so fiercely, and even the lightest of pushes turns the conversation to an abrupt end.

Even the Nopon are notoriously tight-lipped. Lunch sees him breaking bread with Angela, the healer splitting her own bowl of rice and lentils with him, to which he accepts with a thank you and offer of his own food. She accepts half a bowl of fruit, smiles warmly.

“This must be a big event,” Akhos murmurs, between bites. “I’ve never seen a strike happen so  _ abruptly.” _

The healer daintily dabs at her lips with a cloth. “I can’t say much, but I  _ can _ say that the Salvager involved has yet to reach his majority.” her eyes slide to him, and he grimaces.

“That does  _ not  _ narrow it down. Exploitation, prostitution, abuse of power,” Akhos grumbles grouchily, and Angela makes a choked noise that in another life Akhos would have called a laugh. “Salvagers are so insular it could be all three of them at once,” he huffs.

A pile of small Nopon sniff out their food, and scurry closer, look hopefully at his dish of fruit. He crunches on a peach, debates the merits of getting the  _ Eyes _ of several pleading Littlepon all at once, and sighs.

Akhos hands over the fruit to many Littlepon cheers, tries not to smile. Angela, he notices, is smiling wryly at him, chuckling at her lentils without making him feel mocked. Once they had devoured the bowl’s contents, they rush off with the bowl, make Akhos raise a brow in mild concern.

“You’ll get it back,” Angela chuckles again. “One of the Salvagers here is big on manners, and he’s been teaching the Littlepons proper manners.” Akhos raises his other brow at her, but before he can respond, the pile of Littlepons zooms back, presents him a freshly washed dish.

“Thank you,” Akhos decides on, charmed by their adorable behavior. “I see your Salvager friend has taught you well.”

The Littlepon pile quivers excitedly, and one delightedly squeaks out, “Rex-Rex and Mally best teachers! Teach lots for good Nopon gossip!” Akhos hums quietly to himself. That was  _ interesting - _ nobody he knew directly got his information from such younglings, but even so… children heard far more than people thought, and Akhos wonders how he can best take advantage of it for himself.

Amused, he watches the pile of Littlepons until an idea comes to him. “I heard that something happened to a Salvager here. Could you tell me a little about it?” The pile quivers, before all of them turn into themselves, the fluff-brained Littlepons naught but a sentient pile of fluff. Hurried whispers turn the conversation into something out of a play brainstorming session - they were intently debating the merits of telling him - not that it was a surprise to him, given how fiercely the Salvagers had been protecting their own.

“You help Rex-Rex and Mally?” the lead Littlepon says warily. “Rex-Rex and Mally are good to Littlepons! Littlepons not let mean not-nopons hurt Rex-Rex and Mally!”

Akhos blinks.  _ My goodness, _ he thinks, surprised by the pure affection each Littlepon seemed to indignantly vibrate with.

“I have no intentions of harming either Rex-Rex or...” he felt ridiculous just saying it, “Mally.” The pile as a whole inspects him in silence, and he waits for their verdict with slightly bemused silence.

“Rex-Rex was  _ attacked _ by bad Salvager Guild man - he be liking pretty Rex-Rex,” One Littlepon tells him, gasps at the scandal of it all despite already knowing the outcome.

Akhos stares in shocked horror. While finding Malos was a priority, Jin would  _ insist _ on having a matter as horrific as  _ this _ dealt with  _ immediately. _

* * *

“It’s just me,” Rex’s voice wakes him from the chilling grip of ice that he’d been dreaming of. Malos bolts upright, breath short and skin uncomfortably clammy. His Driver is still visibly half-asleep, rubbing his eyes and dressed in only a shirt several times too big on him and a pair of drawstring shorts. He looks utterly adorable, heel of his palm pressed against his eyes, and Malos gently tugs his hand away so he doesn’t rub them to the point of tears.

“I...” The dream was already gone, leaving him shivering and chilled. Rex looks predictably concerned.

It’s been a week since they had landed in Leftheria, and Malos’s nightmares had become a frequent occurrence. Rex always woke up during them, and his tentative suggestion that perhaps Rex relocate himself to a separate bed had been rebuffed so quickly Malos had been left reeling from the sheer ferocity of it.

It kept him warm on the colder parts of his dream, something close like hate curled up under his ribcage as it chews upon his heart and core to  _ burn. _ He curls around Rex, his Driver curling up against him and nuzzling his throat.

“Do you want to sit outside? Should be close to dawn by now,” Rex says against his throat. Gratefulness chokes him, and he gives a quiet whine, knows without thinking that Rex would take care of it.

Of course Rex does, nudges him slowly out the door with quiet, gently spoken encouragement, the pair sitting in the light of the barely rising sun. With sunlight and heat, Malos could feel the last of the nightmares rushing away, leaving him slightly lost, but content to be comforted by his Driver. Rex’s mouth presses a gentle kiss to a cheek, and Malos can’t help but smile, charmed and just the slightest bit exasperated with his silly Driver.

The pink of the rising sun is nothing short of beautiful, the pair greeting the morning in comfortable silence.

“You don’t remember, do you?” Rex asks, and weakly, Malos shakes his head, knows Rex is only asking because he cares. 

“No,” he admits, frustrated beyond belief but unwilling to vent his core-deep worries to Rex and put a damper on what was already a beautiful morning. Rex pushes himself up, wraps skinny arms around his neck and hugs him tightly.

“I could really use a hug,” Rex tells him.

Well… if Rex could use the hug… Malos folds around him, pours his worries into the touch and nuzzles the top of Rex’s head. He hated that now, he was only showing more weakness, not less. Whatever the Old Goat had done had dredged up old, forgotten memories, left him shaking in his bones as though haunted. Malos buries his head into Rex’s shoulder, and they don’t move until the sun has fully risen in the sky, Rex nuzzling him fondly before letting go.

“What’s on today’s agenda?” He asks as he follows his Driver, the boy plodding to the chicken coop to fetch a handful of eggs.

“I’ve got to pay a visit to the Salvager’s branch to catch up on news,” Rex says wryly. “After that, Auntie Connie wants my help - some of the pearl divers lost their cages in the lake, and they’ve promised me the pick of the batch if I can bring the cages back. Oysters aren’t easy to get, but they’re a hell of a lot cheaper than buying new pearl cages. Those have to be able to last at least a decade without rusting,” Rex explains to his frowning Blade.

“Are pearls worth your time?” He asks, and Rex’s lips tick up into an amused smile.

“Leftherian freshwater pearls - which I’m going to be helping fish up the cages - are worth at least six thousand G individually, and if someone orders say… six of the same sized pearls in the same color, it can go up to twelve thousand G. And the more identical pearls one orders, the higher the price pushes up, because that’s additional monitoring and diving and specialty foods for select pearl oysters. Of course, we also have Leftherian Cloud Sea Pearls, and those are  _ hideously _ expensive. If they lost that cage, they’d be calling in an S-Ranked salvager.”

Malos scowls. “Why not you?” He asks mulishly, and Rex smiles at him, touched. “You’re very good at your job,” he grumbles, and Rex laughs warmly. Their bond flexes affectionately, wraps around him in a hug.

“That’s because the most likely place a Cloud Sea Pearl Cage would end up is in the Leftherian Deep Undertow. I’m good, but I’ve never been given training to handle a current like that. It’d be like when you first woke up and me handing you a shield axe and making you fight with it. I can probably engage in safe training here at the Leftherian Salvager’s Branch, but anywhere else, and I’m liable to end up as not as a  _ dead _ Salvager.” Malos flinches, and Rex washes his hands clean, sets the freshly washed eggs to the side so he can hug him.

“I promised I wouldn’t risk myself - I have to take care of you, just as much as you want to take care of me,” the boy reminds him fondly. “So don’t worry - any risks I take will be after you approve them, okay?” Malos gives a weak chuckle, hugs his Driver tight before letting him go.

“Okay,” Malos says with a soft sigh. “What’s for breakfast?” he asks, changes the subject as he rubs at his eyes discreetly.

“I thought I’d make you hash brown egg cups. You want to grab the potatoes and wash them? I’ll show you how to grate the potatoes and what cheese we use,” Rex says with a smile. “They’re a huge favorite of Auntie’s too, so she’ll probably want at least one when we go see her for some fruit.” Malos hums quietly.

“Fruit?” He asks, and Rex puffs his chest out in pride at that.

“I managed to trick a Nopon into selling Auntie a full-grown peach tree as a kid,” he says, unabashed. Malos laughs.

“Of course,” Malos chuckles. “Dare I ask who?” Rex rolls his eyes, smiles sidelong. “Oh god. It was Kiki, wasn’t it,” Malos groans, and Rex snorts.

“The one and the same,” Rex confirms. “To be fair, it was  _ not _ my fault that she didn’t read the fine print when I gave her the newly written contract.” Malos snorts from where he’s washing the potatoes, laughs under his breath.

“You’re amazing,” he tells his Driver, and Rex grins shyly, pleasure humming along their bond.

* * *

Connie isn’t quite sure what to make of Mal. The Blade was certainly nice enough, willing to let Littlepon and kid alike clamber over his shoulders without more than a light word of scolding, and a decent enough man aside with a willingness to take on any odd job that was asked of him. But there was a tension between him and good ol’Gramps, which Connie thought wasn’t quite kosher there. Mal stands before her, and she wonders what it could be.

She’s jolted out of her thoughts by a cleared throat.

“Might we talk?” Mal says and she can’t help the grin that cracks over her face at the sight of some Littlepons shedding all over his jacket and patting his face, begging for attention. He gently lowers the armful of fluff to the floor. “Why don’t you go find me a comb to brush all that out, and I’ll find a stool somewhere and take care of you lot?” Squeaky cheers fill the air, and the pile all moves off towards their parents.

“Sure, hon,” she says, offers him a seat and a brush to wipe his jacket off, which he takes in good grace, wipes his jacket clean and sets it over the back of the chair. “So, what can I do for you?” She asks, and his expression becomes far more sober and serious. Worried, she lowers her knife, puts the half-skinned peach back in the water.

“Rex is under the impression that what you gave him in childhood required him to earn it.” His tone is flatly protective, and Connie winces at his look. “I understand my Driver well enough to know that he usually shoulders responsibility for things that are not usually his, but I wanted to hear the words from your mouth.”

“What did he tell you?” She asks, torn between fondness for her adoptive son and a small desire to strangle him.

“He said… that you always gave him the practical things, but that he needed to earn them, because you didn’t have enough coin to spare.” Connie winces again.

“Oh that overly responsible child,” she sighs, presses her fingers to her forehead. “Fonsett has  _ always _ been tight on money, on that I won’t lie, but Rex was never obligated to repay me for raising him. That was my duty and pleasure as his adoptive mother, nothing less.” She rubs her forehead again, watches as Mal relaxes, glances over at the pile of Littlepons quivering excitedly out of hearing. “I’m going to feed him sweet peaches until he bursts,” she grumbles, and Mal chuckles softly.

“I’ll help,” Mal volunteers gamely, before waving the Littlepon horde closer. They all squeak excitedly, and the one holding the comb in tiny paws scurries to his lap first. He tenderly takes the comb and starts grooming them for loose fur much the same way Rex would, and Connie can’t help but beam at the sight. “I heard there was a festival ongoing?” Mal asks, obviously changing the subject, and Connie gives a smile, picks up her peach and knife to finish skinning it.

And sets to telling Mal everything she could. Rex had a proper guardian now, and she would spare no expense to making sure Mal had every tool she could spare to keep her son in all but name safe.


	11. Exchanges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are many valuable currencies. Tales, money, lives - all of them change hands.

“So we can’t go back for  _ two months?” _ Rex’s voice cracks, and Malos wraps an arm around his distressed Driver, holds him close.

“As long as Anders is there, the Leftherian Salvager’s Guild is on strike. Draven is trying to convince him to retire, but he’s determined to wring you and your Blade’s neck. We aren’t letting you get killed for some madman’s superiority complex, Rex.” The Guild Leader says sympathetically. Malos’s esteem of the man rises a notch or two at the honest concern. “You continue to do your job, and we’ll store whatever you need and tow it over when you head back, okay?”

Rex sniffs, a little overwhelmed, but in a good way, from the way their bond feels. “Thanks Sorrel,” Rex sniffles, rubs at his eyes. “That takes a huge load off,” his Driver admits, and Malos lightly rubs at his Driver’s shoulder.

Malos allows himself a small measure of his own relief. “On the bright side, I have more time to get used to working as your actual partner. There’s at least a handful of Salvage Partners running around,” Malos reminds his Driver, makes Rex beam like a ray of sunlight. “You can do your training that you wanted too, while I’m here.” The guild leader looks  _ fascinated _ at their conversation, and Malos raises an eyebrow, inquires without words.

“Sorry, sorry,” the guild master chuckles. “Rex here never took a shine to anyone when it came to a salvaging partner. Finding someone who meets his high standards is definitely a first.” Rex turns bright pink, whines.

Malos chuckles. “I’m glad I’m the first, then.” He allows his Driver to hide his face in his jacket for a moment, before continuing. “What will it cost for us to use your storage?”

“Nothing,” Sorrel says wryly. “You’re a Salvager impacted by Anders. Draven sent us a letter that until the case was resolved, all charges would be going through the compensatory damage fund until further notice. Anders may have been an arsehole, but Draven’s good people. He’ll see to it you lot don’t suffer because Anders couldn’t be a decent person. Rule 14 still stands,” Sorrel says with a grim smile. Malos hides his puzzlement until they’ve entered the building proper.

“Rule 14?” He asks, and Rex, having finished hiding away in his jacket, looks up at him fondly.

“Salvagers and Partners first. Family second. Business third. And to hell with anyone after,” Rex quotes, giggles a little. Malos hums quietly.

“That makes sense,” he decides on, before pressing a kiss to the top of his Driver’s hair. “C’mon. Let’s get going.” Rex beams up at him again, takes his hand and leads him inside happily.

It’s a large, clean space, full of bustling Salvagers, all of whom toss Rex cheerful greetings and salutes. Some of the younger Salvagers - and goodness, they really  _ did _ start young, didn’t they? - came close to wrap Rex in a hug, exclaim their relief that he was okay, and Malos finds himself separated from his Driver. He’d have been worried if it wasn’t for the plain amusement on his Driver’s face and bond, so he lets Rex go, if a bit reluctant to leave him out of reach. After cautiously watching the group to make sure none of them were being inappropriate, Malos reluctantly trots over to the other waiting Blades, all of whom give him a look of sympathetic amusement.

“You ended up with  _ Rex? _ Hoo boy, did you pick the trouble magnet,” A red-headed Blade snickers at him, and Malos glares at the feminine-looking Blade. The green-haired one next to her smacks her shoulder, makes her yelp.

“Ignore my idiot friend - but she is right - Rex has one of the damned’s luck.” He smiles ruefully. “I’m guessing you’re new to being a Salvager’s Blade, eh?”

“We’ve only been actively working together for a few weeks,” Malos admits sheepishly, and noises of sympathy leave the assembled Blades.

“Well then - it sounds like we’ve got some work to do! C’mon Mal,” the female Blade says with a smile. “Let’s get you to a table, and we’ll help you out with some of those tricks of the trade. Don’t worry - my Driver’s with yours, and they just want to catch up with him.”

He glances once more towards his Driver, and Rex, sensing his worry, turns and waves enthusiastically, smiling broadly. Reassured, he reluctantly follows behind the Blade.

* * *

Who would have thought killing one Architect-forsaken idiot would have been so  _ difficult? _ Akhos can feel frustration as it bubbles under his tongue, seethes irritably as he paces the length of his borrowed room.

The more he learned, the angrier he became, and the more frustrated he was. As it stood, the events that had led up to this Salvager’s revolt were nothing if not obvious. The Guild Head -  _ for now _ \- had been systematically going after talented, promising Salvagers, and his assaults had been all for one thing.

To stay in power. Enough S-Ranked Salvagers would have default authority to revoke his power over the Union. The boy - Rex - was merely another in a long line of strong potentials to rise up the ranks, and was rather pretty aside.

Those that did not fit his  _ tastes _ he found other ways to eliminate. Like the redheaded man Draven. It had been a bit of bad luck that those within the Salvager’s Union had seized upon his untimely retirement as a means to train him as a replacement Union Guild Leader. The boy was competent, fair, and well-liked, with his only failing having been a single moment of naivety towards the Salvager who had been assaulted.

Akhos reads the reports again. Curses when his hands crumple the paper. Smoothes the paper out on a table, and reads it again.

Fire was the agreed upon element from all Blades that Mal wielded.  _ Intense _ purple flames, searing through a door and cutting through a target’s hand like a knife through hot butter. Purple flames were an uncommon color, though given that there were also those who held red, green, and even  _ blue _ flames. The description of Mal was also at odds with what Akhos had expected.

He couldn’t imagine Malos willingly wearing  _ leather _ pants, of all things, and his core crystal was a  _ rose. _ He honestly had no idea what Blade he was, but as the signature of the Blade was also not a match for Oberona’s records, he had to wonder. Had Almathus done something to Malos to change him to his  _ core? _

Such things bore unsettling thoughts.

A knock on his door throws him out of the disturbing trend he had mired in. “Come in,” Akhos calls, eases his pacing to instead a slow walk as he lands in a seat, frustrated but willing to accept the distraction as it came.

The healer steps in, closes the door behind herself. “I wouldn’t advise leaving your room today,” the woman says promptly. “It’s coming  _ very _ close to a riot.” Akhos eyes her, frowns slightly.

“That bad?” He questions, and Angela winces. “What escalated it?” He wonders aloud, watches as the healer’s expression shifts to distaste.

“Bana has left the guild to handle an urgent matter,” the healer sighs. “Given that it has to do with the trade war between Mor Ardain and Urayaya, he left in quite the hurry. Without him here, things are going to escalate rapidly. I’ll see to it that meals are brought to you, and if worst comes to worst, would you be able to host the Littlepons in your room?”

Akhos frowns, but sighs, rubs the back of his head with a sinking heart. “Is it truly going to be that bad?” Angela’s silence is answer enough for Akhos, who sighs again. “So long as their parents don’t mind, I can allow them to stay for the time being.”

It would at least give him something to do - to cultivate a working relationship with them and hopefully they would be able to further aid his quest. Flopping into bed again, Akhos waves a goodbye to the healer as she leaves, already contemplating his next move. His thought to seek answers has been waylaid, for the moment, and instead, he allows the variables of the quandary he had ended up in to surround him as he plans for the next step.

* * *

The feeling of drowning rushes through his lungs, and Malos panics, trying desperately to reach for the surface, the chill of what was indisputably the Cloud Sea rushing around him, undertow dragging him deeper and deeper, away from -

A warm hand grasps his, hauls him up out of chill ice and bone-deep chill.

“Don’t you worry,” the warm voice sounds familiar, as though Rex had gotten older and a bit wiser. “I’ve got you friend.”

Coughing, Malos allows the stranger to haul him out, spitting water out as he coughs and struggles to move away from the icy bank. An arm loops around his chest, hauls him to his feet with gentle care. Together, he and the stranger make their way to the top of a hill, leans him against a tree.

“Easy there,” the man’s voice is a kind rumble, warmth blossoming over his skin to dry him off. “You look like you’ve gone through quite the tumble.”

Malos looks up - blinks.

“I don’t normally get rescued during the nightmare,” Malos says cautiously, and the silver-haired man chuckles, pats his shoulder in reassurance.

“Merely a spot of good luck then, I suppose,” the stranger chuckles fondly, and Malos allows himself to be fussed over. “Have you been here often, friend?” The stranger asks him, and Malos glances around.

“This place? No. I don’t recognize it in the slightest,” Malos shakes his head. He sighs, annoyed. “Wish I did - at least then, perhaps something would make sense to me other than just...” helpless, he waves his hand back at the storm-darkened sea. Sympathy fills the man’s face, and he leads him up, away from the danger that the shore provides. The two sit together, and after a moment, the man provides him with a roll of some kind of sweet bread.

Curious, Malos sniffs at it, gets the faintest scent of cinnamon. Malos takes a test nibble.

_ Delicious! _ His shoulders relax and his expression lightens, the Blade happily eating away once the flavor had been deemed to his satisfaction. The man next to him chuckles, partakes in his own sweet roll.

“So, what’s your story?” Malos asks once he’s finished his offered treat, licks his fingers to savor the sweet icing. The pale-haired man eyes him, torn between amusement and curiosity. “The last time someone showed up in my dreams, they told me that they were a version of me from another reality.” He glances sidelong, and the man smiles wryly.

“Ah… That sounds interesting,” the man demures, and Malos snorts, waits expectantly. “If I had to guess, I would have been a friend, in another life.” Malos raises an eyebrow, but takes him at his word. His fingers still feel sticky, so he calls the flames to his hand, burns the sugar away to nothingness. The man looks intrigued and curious at what he had done.

Malos flushes. “My hand felt sticky,” he mumbles, embarrassed. The man chuckles.

“No, that’s not it - it was quite fine control is all. I was impressed.” The silver-haired man turns away, smiles slightly as he leans back on his hands. “It is good to see you are growing at ease with yourself.”

Before Malos can ask what the heck  _ that’s _ about, the world grows foggy.

“Ah, if I’m not mistaken, it’s time for you to awaken. We’ll speak again, friend,” the man says cheerfully as the world grows dark, and Malos cracks his eyes open blearily to see Rex, sound asleep against his chest instead of the soft, lush world in which he had been resting in. His Driver is sound asleep, fingers bunched up in Malos’ sleeping shirt and the boy murmuring restlessly at him. He runs his fingers through messy brown locks, eases himself free and tucking the blankets firmly around Rex’s body. His Driver whines softly, but doesn’t wake, settled when Malos wraps their bond tight around him in reassurance, the faint glow of it twining around his frail figure.

Malos smiles at the sight, charmed yet again by Rex’s adorable behavior as he heads downstairs.

Downstairs is a mess, and Malos clicks his tongue. They’d been helping prepare for the festival last night, and Malos had intended on cleaning up last night, but… well.

Rex had fallen asleep on him. Kneeling, he carefully begins to pick up the scissors and knives left on the table, putting everything away as he carefully putters around, cleans up the miscellaneous wrappings and paper scraps, carefully dusts around and picks up until it looks more or less immaculate.

“Rex?” The soft call of his aunt reaches Malos’s ears, and he turns, box of collected scraps in hand. She pulls up short at the sight of him, before a wry smile curls over her lips. “Ah, good morning Mal.” Her eyes are soft and warm, and Malos gives her an awkward smile of his own back. “Good to see you up - I had to ask, is there anything you like to eat? You aren’t the most vocal of boys when it comes to food,” Connie remarks, taking the box from him despite his protests.

At her words, he can feel ash in his mouth, the moments of cramming something that tasted vaguely of rotten meat in his mouth before it vanishes, leaves him shaken.

“I… I don’t have much preference,” he says at last. “Like most Blades, I don’t remember much about my previous life, even though Rex found me still fully formed...” The dream comes back to mind, sugar-sticky icing and cinnamon chasing away the nightmarish taste. “Um… I had something once… a sweet roll with cinnamon and icing?” He offers, and Connie eyes him.

“Cinnapon rolls, huh?” She smiles at him. “That I can fix up for you in a jiffy sweetheart. Now go wash and make yourself presentable - I’ll make breakfast.” At her gentle shooing, Malos allows himself to be pushed off towards the baths, exasperated but happy all the same at her kindness.

Rex… if this was the family he had, it truly was no wonder he’d turned out to be so kind...

* * *

Akhos feels fully justified in punching the wall the next time he’s alone. Had the walls not been so thin, perhaps he would have also indulged himself in a scream as well, if only to vent his frustration.

This was the most  _ annoying _ complication he’d had so far. He’d spent the better part of four days locked up in this damn room while the whole of the Argentum Trade Guild went mad. And while he had company with the Littlepon horde, they often spent as much time hiding under his bed in sheer terror as they did begging him for affection.

“Good morning,” Akhos grits out when the door opens, reveals the doctor as she stands in the doorway, trepidation on her features.

“You have quite the punch,” she says in greeting. “You knocked quite a few paintings off their nails,” she says wryly by way of explanation, and he flushes.

“This situation is becoming intolerable,” he admits. “As it is, I cannot even leave the guild without severe risk to my person, nor can I send letters to reassure my companions to my health.” He rubs a hand against his face, plucks his glasses off despite how fuzzy the world looks without them. “I usually have scores of patience for such things, but this week truly has not been one for my emotional health. It’s been nearly two weeks since I came here to find more about my goal,” he sighs, and the blurry figure of Angela feels sympathetic as she sits on the edge of the bed.

“Please sit.” Angela pats the bed, and he reluctantly allows himself to. “If you so desperately need to leave, I can see to it a discreet Nopon service is brought to get you free of this mess.” The desire to leave wars with the practical side of him. Once things have calmed, Akhos would have an easier time talking to Salvagers, as the inevitable removal (and hopefully, death) of Anders would put the whole guild into a celebratory mood.

With drink flowing freely, tongues would wag and he would learn all he ever needed about this  _ Mally. _

“I can’t. I’m looking for a friend. He’s been missing for…” Akhos tries to elaborate without giving the truth of himself away. Eventually, he settles on, “A rather large part of my life. This guild sees the most traffic, and I would hate myself if I dared to leave now.”

Angela remains silent, before a small hand lights upon his shoulder.

“Would you tell me about him? He must be a vibrant man if you’re risking staying during one of the largest Salvager’s riots in history.”

Akhos carefully wipes his glasses clean, puts them on. Her figure sharpens into focus, and the blue-haired healer looks intent and focused upon him. Curious, yes, but genuinely so.

“Are you sure?” He asks to stall himself more than anything. Her smile is soft, and she pats his shoulder.

“Yes. I would like to know.” Her answer is blunt, to the point, and he carefully takes his glasses off and twirls the stem of one of the temples in silence.

“He was the first to notice I had vision problems.”

* * *

_ His eyes hurt again. Sitting up, Akhos rubs at his eyes, still too tired and achy from the last fight they’d been in to want to get out of bed. What a fool was he - he’d been paying attention, he’d swear it, and yet, somehow, he’d still gotten injured. Patroka had chewed him out for it, and while Jin had been frowning at him, Mikhail had teased him mercilessly about it. Malos, in contrast, had been silent, his aura tightly bound as he did when he was deep in thought. He was a strategist, he  _ knew  _ that! But they didn’t have to be quite so mean about it, Akhos huffs as he steps out of bed, shrugs on his robe to fight the chill of the warship they had liberated. _

_ It takes some fumbling to get to the shower and turn it on, the bitter cold quickly warming to near-scalding comfort, Akhos scrubbing at his hair and skin until it was red and felt clean. Drying off, Akhos startles at the dark blur in front of him. _

_ “Architect above!” Akhos swears when he recognizes the armor before him as Malos. “Warn a man before you go and traipse into his domicile, would you?” he wheezes. Malos doesn’t answer, at first. Malos’s hand draws closer, sharpens in his focus as it gently cups his chin, grips him firmly. _

_ “Look me in the eyes.” The instruction is firm, but not harsh in the same way Akhos was used to. Blinking, Akhos seeks the gray pinpoints that were the Blade’s eyes, holds it steady. “Tch.” The noise is not annoyed, and if Akhos had to call it anything, he would have called it worried. “Get dressed. You and I are going out. We can resume training another time,” he adds dryly when Akhos startles. “I’ll let Jin and them know you’re not training with them today.” _

_ By the time Akhos was able to indignantly splutter, he had vanished into the ether. Grumbling, Akhos sets to drying off and getting dressed, hitching a heavy waterproof cloak over his shoulders. It was a particularly rainy day today, and he had no desire to come back and become sick due to his own foolishness. _

_ Malos is wearing a cloak of his own, foot tapping impatiently against the ground as he waits for him. He can’t really see it, but he can hear the rapid tap of a boot against metal. _

_ “Good, you’re here.” Malos reaches out and brushes a hand lightly against his side, the cloak filling with an unnatural warmth. “There. That should prevent you from getting a chill.” Malos turns away sharply, but even with his vision as poor as it was, he could detect a faint redness. _

_ Wisely, Akhos does not mention it, the two heading off the ship in search of… somewhere. _

_ The local town was quite vibrant and bright, loud and distracting. He flinches when several kids get too close, and Malos’s arm darts out of the cloak to haul him closer. _

_ “You’ll get lost at this rate,” Malos’s voice is but an annoyed grumble, and while Akhos was embarrassed, he was grateful for the firm scruffing, the noise and lights despite the rain making his already bad vision worse. The reflection of puddles, splashing of children, and the bright fires battling the rain were a logistical nightmare, and truly, Akhos feared that had he not been so firmly held in hand, he would have been lost in the crowd. _

_ They slip into a tiny alley, and Akhos blinks at the hum of a Blade so nearby. _

_ “Oi. I heard you’re one of the best glassmakers on Tantal,” Malos’s voice is sharp, and the blurry figure looks up at them both from where they are bent over the bar. _

_ “I am,” the voice is female, very pleasant on the ears and light. “What might I do for you?” _

_ “Could you make him corrective lenses? His sight is shit, and he’s an archer.” Startled, Akhos looks up. “What?” Malos snaps in annoyance. “I pay attention. You’re lucky if you don’t get one of us accidentally with that weapon of yours.” Embarrassed, he looks away, nods. _

_ It takes the better part of an hour before she can test his vision, and his face burns bright red at how poor his sight was, how detailed she was in explaining how poorly his vision had deteriorated. _

_ “How do you even hit anything?” Malos asks him when he returns and receives the information from the glassmaker, hands him a steaming dumpling big enough for both his hands to grasp. Akhos flushes red. _

_ “I don’t need to see if I’m looking at an Ether signature,” he mumbles around his mouthful of food, Malos swatting the back of his head. _

_ “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” He scolds dryly, and Akhos flushes. _

_ “Sorry,” he mumbles again, cowed by the annoyance in his tone. Malos rolls his eyes at him, before turning his full attention back to his dumpling. They snack in silence, before at long last, the glassmaker returns, something bright red in her hands. _

_ “The metalsmith made the frames for the lenses - hopefully they’re to your taste,” the woman tells them, and he blinks blankly at her. _

_ Malos gives an annoyed sigh. “You can’t see to take them, can you?” his question is resigned, and Akhos winces at the exasperation. “I am so fucking lucky you haven’t shot me in the damn ass,” Malos grumbles. For all his grumbling, Malos was  _ gentle _ , easing the little arms of the glasses over his ears, the bridge of them nudging up to show Malos in crystal-clear focus, the world around him no longer a haze of indistinct colors. _

_ Malos’s hand tilts up to shift his head left and right, as though inspecting him. Pleased, he hums deep in his throat. “Not bad. The red looks good on you.” _

_ Akhos’s blush threatens to scorch his face. _

* * *

Angela eyes him. While he’d avoided naming names, Angela knew exactly who he was talking about.

She’d never intended on seeing Malos as human. To hear that he had been the one to insist upon Akhos receiving glasses…

Angela isn’t sure how that makes her feel. With a faint smile, she settles her hand upon his shoulder. “He sounds like a good friend,” she says, instead of denying it as was her first impulse.

Akhos’s smile is wry, and she knows he’s likely berating himself for such open weakness.

“Yes. He is.” The thought lingers in her mind as she bids him goodbye, lips curled into a faint frown. Perhaps she had been looking at this from the wrong angle the whole time...


	12. Growth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of more than one kind.

Rex glares at his clothes, feels Mal nearby, confused at his reluctance to leave the room. Over the course of the first month they’d been here, Rex had shot up over an inch and a half, and as far as the Leftherian Salvager’s Guild Healer could guess, he’d keep growing until it was time to return to Argentum.

Which buggered  _ all _ of his plans to make a new dive suit.

Mal pokes his nose in, gives him a curious and concerned look, while Rex pulls a face at him in grumpy annoyance. Amused, Mal’s bond curls around him, sugar-sweet affection.

“I might just have to ask for the growth spurt to be accelerated,” Rex says dryly. Mal’s expression flips to worried concern, his Blade quick to wrap around him and hold him in a hug.

“It’ll hurt,” Mal warns, obviously not pleased in the slightest. Rex sighs, reaches up to lace his fingers through thick, messy hair.

“Of course it’ll hurt,” Rex smiles at his partner gently, curls their bond tight around him. “But better a few days of pain then the expense of upgrading my suit six, seven times. Quota has to be met, and while salvaging the pearl cages and getting a chunk of profits is great, those aren’t authenticated Salvage. I need to keep working, and I can’t sit on my arse waiting for the growth spurt to end.” Mal whines into his hair, and he tries to reassure him. “Mal,  _ please, _ I know you’re worried, but I promise I’ll be alright,” he reassures.

“Will it last long?” Mal’s voice is small. It’s clear his Blade was still unhappy, but unable to see a way out with Rex’s livelihood and Ranking on the line.

“A couple days. I’ll be miserable for them, but better to get it done and over with,” Rex says, allows Mal to scoop him up and bury his head into Rex’s shoulder, whining in worried annoyance. Rex sighs and holds fast, knows his Blade is just worrying because it’s his nature. It takes Mal a few minutes to calm down, and he lowers Rex to the ground with a worried frown as he does so.

“Salvagers have a shit life,” Malos grumbles, and Rex laughs, sugar-sweet and fond.

“I know. But for now, work first, take down the Salvager ranking later,” Rex teases his Blade, who hums, deep in thought as he allows himself to be dragged off.

* * *

Huh. That was not a happy Blade. Vandham inches closer so he can overhear the conversation.

“No reasonable person should be growing over fifteen centimeters in the course of three days,” the Blade grouses to his shorter partner. Gold eyes gleam with fond exasperation, the Driver reaching up to pat his face. Despite his annoyance, the Blade in question bends to allow his partner to cup his face in both hands.

“I know, Mal. I’m not looking forward to it either. But after it’s all over, you and I can start working together on making that new dive suit,  _ and _ I’ll finally have a reason to work on combat forms. I’ll have to relearn all that grace I’ve got. Diving won’t be much different, but land-legs will be a whole different story,” the boy laughs, brushes noses with his Blade fondly. Mal flushes a bit pink, but reciprocates his action, hands on the boy’s hips as he tends to his Driver.

“C’mon Mal,” the boy murmurs, and the Blade smiles a bit sheepishly, allows the child to drag him off. “So, first things first, we need to go home. My growth spurt kicks in when I go to sleep, and better sooner rather than later.” The Blade whines at him, and the boy laughs, bright as the sun.

The chatty child passes them, and Vandam watches them go.

He’d been looking for a Salvager, and that kid… There was something  _ interesting _ about him. How in the  _ hell _ did a green Driver end up with a powerful Blade like  _ that? _ Curiosity thoroughly peaked, Vandham wanders into the Guild Hall proper.

He  _ had _ to know what that kid was about.

* * *

“Mmmrgh,” Rex groans against Malos’s chest. The Blade frowns again, runs his fingers through sweat-dampened hair. Rex looked like hell warmed over, his sun-kissed skin pale and clammy as thin fingers cling to his shirt.

“I warned you,” he sighs with a fond smile, curls his power around Rex, the heat of the darkness-blessed flames easing some of the pain for his Driver. Rex whines up at him again, and he rubs his Driver’s back, passes heat and warmth through his body to keep him from fading back into unconsciousness.

Already, Rex had grown six centimeters, with his projected growth to be anywhere from fifteen centimeters to nearly thirty-five. His Driver presses up against him again, whines louder. Malos can feel how his muscles cramp and spasm in pain, and he passes his hand over them again, the heat unknotting them and easing his way.

“If I ever think about doing this again, Mal, just knock me out,” Rex grumbles, Malos giving a laugh that was unbearably fond of his silly Driver. He scoops Rex up into his arms, hauls him downstairs to forage for some food.

Huh. Connie must have breezed through - the table was piled high with foodstuffs, and Rex even stopped whining long enough to look at it all with widening eyes. His Driver’s hunger curls greedily through their bond, and with a fond smile, he tucks Rex onto the couch with a firm injunction to stay put. Rex pouts up at him, the action remaining cheek-pinching adorable in spite of his body’s maturing frame. He winces a second later, of course, but the charm remains.

Malos piles up his plate full of softer foods to ease the strain on Rex’s jaw, and snags a cinnapon roll for himself, settles the whole plateful in front of his Driver with a fond smile. Rex immediately attacks the berries with single-minded intent, makes Malos snort as he takes a bite of his cinnapon roll, hauls Rex into his lap. His Driver squeaks in surprise, before cuddling against him and relaxing like an overstretched piece of taffy.

This was  _ nice, _ Malos thinks, stretches out with a content Rex snacking away. Once his Driver falls asleep, Malos pulls his half-composed letter out of hiding to finish it, folding it around the precious cargo. He’d get Rex’s Aunt to mail it express.

* * *

Elsewhere, Akhos’s fingers rub against his forehead as he observes the madness that was the guild. Angela had warned him about the state, but all the same, she’d given him the name of a discreet courier service who could send his missives out, and a password.

“Welcome to Tam-Tam’s stall!” The Nopon is quieter than usual, but given the uproar, he’s not surprised. Akhos leans over the counter, arms propped up as he smiles ruefully.

“I’m here for a Healer’s special,” he tells the Nopon, who stares at him unblinkingly for several long moments. It holds a nubby hand out, and he carefully hands the missive over.

“Meh! Nopon special for friend it is! Bowl of spicy curry to go?” he asks, and Akhos nods. “Right-quick bowl delivery to Nopon friend!” The letter is tucked into the Nopon’s apron, and he hopes that the missive is sent to Jin to prevent the worried Flesh Eater from killing someone.

He carries the bowl up to his room, yelps when a body roughly shoves him out of the way. Fortune favors him - the bowl is sealed, but lamentably ends up right in the waste bin, and his ribs do not enjoy the bruising force upon which is forcefully plowed into them as he hits the railing.

“Do you  _ mind-” _ he starts irritably, before he has to backpedal and jump away from the knife aimed at his ribs.

Lost food forgotten, Akhos glowers at the stranger.

“And who are you? Another sympathizer for the brat who should have controlled his Blade better?” His breath  _ reeks, _ and Akhos scowls at the man. He detested drunks of all kinds.

“I was a man with  _ lunch, _ you uncouth lout,” Akhos says dryly, openly annoyed. “A lunch that I now cannot eat, given that you made me toss it off the railing,” he adds. The man bristles, obviously offended.

“So what? You think you’re allowed to laze about and eat whatever you like when us honest folks can’t even get a job?” The man is belligerent. And unpleasant.

“What is going on here?” Angela’s voice is not amused, and Akhos spares the woman a cordial nod when she descends the stairs, hands on her hips. “Akhos, I saw you hit the railing - are you alright?” Her concern is sweet, and he answers idly, keeps an eye on the drunken lout as he speaks.

“As well as could be expected. Might have some bruising, but nothing more extreme. I’m lucky I didn’t break a rib.”

Before Angela could respond, the drunk had clearly had enough. “So you  _ are _ with that damned wench and that fool boy!” Akhos takes a step back when the man flails a knife, catches his wrist firmly in a hand.

“Don’t flail weapons like that. You’ll sooner stab your own gut than hit me,” Akhos says, tone flat. Carefully, he twists his wrist, thumb pressing firmly against a tendon to make him yelp and drop said knife, before lifting him by the arm and tossing him bodily into the center of the walkway. The man stumbles to his face, inebriation fueling his rage-filled determination. He lunges for Akhos, and the Flesh Eater casually steps to a side, catches him again, careful to not cause the man any overt harm, before hearing a choked cry from behind him at the sound of impact.

The  _ healer - _ Architect. She had stumbled back from a blow meant for him, hand against her chest and her attacker - a burly-looking man - rubbing his hand over a fist ringed with brass knuckles. Akhos’s lips curl into an infuriated snarl, and when he throws the man’s body this time, he makes sure it  _ hurts. _

“How  _ dare _ you attack a healer,” he hisses, turning on the man, and the other Salvager only realizes his mistake when Akhos quite firmly and bodily hauls him up and dangles him over the edge. Part of his rage was directed towards the man, yes. But Akhos was no fool - the healer didn’t trust him, despite her friendliness. Even so, she had interfered in a blow meant for  _ him, _ putting her neutrality and her life at risk for a stranger.

“Meeeeeh!” The cry of Bana makes everyone freeze, and Akhos glances up, wondering what the scene looks like to the oversized Nopon. “What is going on in Bana’s guild?!” The fat creature tromps downstairs, and Akhos doesn’t move, maintaining his tight grip on the dangling man.

One of the fluffy Littlepons Akhos remembered seeing in the fluff-pile he had babysat bursts out, “Mean Notpon attack nice Healer Angelapon! Nice Glassespon protect Angelapon!” A few of the younger Salvagers in the crowd chip in their verbal agreements, adding in their own accounts before the Guild leader, visibly fuming, flaps his little headwings and calls for order.

Angela looks deeply winded, and when Akhos tosses the man back to solid ground, the fool doesn’t try again. He kneels down.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” He asks, while Bana is furiously ripping apart the two Salvagers in question. She’s rubbing against the sore spot on her chest, coughs into a white handkerchief. Spots of red decorate it, and Akhos looks alarmed at the sight.

“I’m fine,” she says unconvincingly, and he levels the same flat  _ look _ Akhos recalled Malos giving him on more than one occasion on her. “It’s a natural condition I have,” she tells him, pats his arm gently. “I was born with it - the hit made it slightly worse, but I’ll live. A night of rest and some hot tea and I’ll be as good as I ever was.” He eyes her dubiously, but takes it as a given for the time being.

“Even so, if you’d be so kind as to humor me, I’d like to get at least a brief glance over your health, even if they aren’t as good as you.” A wry smile twists Angela’s fair features, and he wonders if something he’d said had changed her mind.

* * *

It’s odd, being fussed over after being the one to care for others for so long. Akhos wasn’t particularly being subtle about it, but she had a fair idea of exactly why he was doing it - the young man  _ hated _ owing debts, and it would fit his sense of honor to ensure she was well cared for after taking a hit meant for him.

She hadn’t calculated that it would have earned her some measure of his trust. He had been  _ there, _ openly vulnerable even as he scruffed the vagabond and tried to gently manifest a semblance of polite calm despite his increasing annoyance and lack of tolerance for fools.

He had been there, careful and gentle despite having every reason to become violent, and when she had seen the other Salvager there, ready to deal a devastating blow to his back, she had  _ moved,  _ put herself in harm’s way despite the hell they would all surely catch for it later.

“Is Angelapon well for visitors?” Bana’s voice is careful, and she smiles from where Akhos has set her in her room, having propped her feet up with a stern injunction to stay put while he fetched another healer.

“It’s just me Bana. Come in please,” she calls. The Nopon waddles in, gives her a firm up and down look, worry on his face. “I’m fine, really,” she promises, gets a little sniff for her troubles.

“Bana agree with Akhos-friend. Another healer say so first before Bana believe Angelapon not hurt,” he tells her, and she stifles a chuckle behind a hand. Akhos returns then, gives the Guild head a look askance before stepping aside and letting one of Angela’s employees enter. The young man looks nervously at Bana, before scurrying over.

“Breathe Brendan,” she says soothingly, and the boy does, before giving her a thorough once-over, his Blade manifesting to scan her from head to toe.

“You’ll want to lay off the coffee for a few weeks,” he tells her after he’s done. “Light duty, no heavy lifting if you can avoid it. The breathing exercises you taught me? Please do those every morning for the next month, and some lighter foods. Nothing overly spicy or heavy. Fish stews, omelettes, berry fruits. I’ll send you a scroll with the details later,” he promises, before giving a hasty bow and scurrying out, obviously terrified of the fuming Bana.

“Salvager’s Nasty Guild man goes too far!” The Nopon says furiously. “Nasty Guild Man will be removed from guild head status  _ today, _ or Bana will start banning Salvagers! Good Salvager Draven polite and competent. Nasty Guild Man be costing Bana much profit and Salvagers afraid to do business!” The Nopon stomps a foot, before he softens, pats a nubby arm against her knee. “Angelapon not to worry. Good mercenary partner Akhos can help if Bana pays for protective services?” The Nopon turns to a surprised looking Akhos, and Angela cannot blame him in the least.

“I can,” Akhos says hesitantly. “I would have to let my team know that I’m taking a long-term contract, but it could be done.” Akhos glances at Angela, a light frown on his face. She smiles and waves him off.

“Don’t worry - my Blade is in the area - I’ll be safe for however long your negotiation takes,” she says assuringly, and he gives a slight frown, before nodding and moving away, Bana toddling after him.

Hmm. Bana owed her a debt, certainly, but she didn’t think it was one that would so easily result in his insistence to spend money upon her protection.

Food for thought, she supposed, and leans back, relaxes for a spell.

* * *

Akhos doesn’t much like being in Bana’s plush office - he’s been here before with Mikhail, when they spoke about retrieving Pyra from the depths of the sea, but he hated being here alone.

“Bana make clear to mercenary friend,” the Nopon starts dangerously once they’re in the room, “Angelapon is very good healer and brings guild much acclaim. It is not good for guild when healer is attacked, you see?” Akhos’s brow raises, but he nods, the sudden generosity now making sense to him. “Bana willing to pay board and feeding of mercenary, with salary negotiable. Angelapon very important to Bana.”

The headwings flap, and Akhos allows himself to consider his possible options before speaking.

“Ten thousand G an hour, and not a penny less,” Akhos says bluntly. It’s a generous offer from him - he doesn’t normally take contracts that involve bodyguarding work for less than twenty seven thousand G per hour, and that’s not even including the extra room and board.

But Akhos was still recalling how the healer had thrown herself in harms way for him. He swallows tightly. There was a debt owed there, and he  _ damn _ well intended on paying it.

“Meeeeh...” Bana’s head-wings flap listlessly, before he nods. “Bana accepts. Very generous for mercenary friend to offer so low a price. Perhaps as bonus, mercenary friend can get voucher? For weapon upgrade?”

_ Huh. Very generous, _ Akhos thinks in surprise. A weapon voucher was not  _ cheap, _ not for those like him, whose weapons were bound to their souls.

“It’s a deal,” he agrees, and as Bana writes up their contract, Akhos starts composing his own missive to Jin. There were  _ things _ that needed to be said, and some of it was too sensitive to send with anyone other than Oberona.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not... entirely happy with this chapter, but it does move the plot along and does exactly what I need it to do, so expect a tweak or two in the future.


	13. Warmth of Frost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even the cold-hearted have loved ones.

_ Dearest Jin, _

_ It’s been a madhouse in Argentum - the Salvagers have been rioting for much of the time I’ve been here, and while I cannot blame them their anger, the sheer  _ volume _ of such acts is getting to be quite the stressful affair. _

_ I find myself fortunate - the Guild Healer happens to be a kind and sensible woman, who was able to point me to a discreet courier service to send this out to you. As I am writing, it’s been two weeks since the riots began, and I’m afraid the subject around the riots is a sensitive one. Please take my assurances to heart that it is in the process of being  _ dealt _ with as we speak. Also, if you could, please do me a favor - while the head healer seems to be on an even keel, something about her bothers me. If you could investigate her and her history, I would be much obliged. While what little I’ve seen of her at work shows a skilled individual, I find myself suspicious as to how she gained such skill with so few years to her name. _

_ With care and warmth, _

_ Akhos. _

Atop of it is another letter. This one had been hand-delivered via a grumpy Oberona not even three hours after the first had finally made its way to his hands.

_ To Torna (but mostly you, Jin), _

_ Argentum has gone utterly mad. The healer I spoke of prior was injured shortly after I sent my missive to you. She put herself between me an a rather unpleasant hit to the base of my skull, and as a result of a healer’s protection being revoked, Bana is now actively handling the investigation. While I still would like an investigation into her, I will now be on an active job as bodyguarding detail while the unpleasantness in Argentum sorts itself out. I will do my best to keep track of the special objective, of course, but given that someone has openly attacked a healer famed for her neutrality, I will have to assume that my time will be sparse. _

_ Much love, _

_ Akhos. _

There’s a small photo attached, and a name. Jin flips it over.  _ Angela, _ hmm? He would have to thank her if they ever did meet for protecting one of his own. Flipping it back over, he takes in the color photo of the young woman with a discerning gaze. Her hair is pinned tightly, though several curls are loose ‘round her, framing a soft, heart-shaped face. She is a classical Tornan beauty, straight nose and full lips, willowy figure hidden beneath a sensible healer’s frock. She wears nice looking heels, something he could easily see both in places of import and on a traveller.

She was intriguing. And that  _ Blade _ on her shoulder. It is avian in nature, small. If he had not known she had a partner, he would have easily mistaken the bird as a cut and pasted copy of the night sky in the shape of a raven.

He had no intel on the raven. But surely digging into her life would reveal some of the Blade’s history.

Jin lowers the papers, waits for his remaining compatriots to speak.

Patroka, unsurprisingly, is first. “We could use the coin,” she says dismissively, pulls her hair back into a single high tail. “Akhos did mention our funds are running low, and that much G per day means we can do a greater investigation into whatever the glorious  _ praetor _ has planned.”

Mikhail, who hasn’t looked up from the plans he had been working on, doesn’t speak for a moment. “There’s a good chance we’ll miss our deadline.” His tone is flat. “Granted, with Malos still missing, we really can’t bring Pyra up without risking all of our lives.” His tone is torn between bitterness and familiar hate. “It would probably be safer to wait.”

Nia stays silent, fingers clenched tight around her savior’s jacket. She’s deeply unsure of her place here - Jin doesn’t expect her to say a word, and he’s proven right when she mutely shakes her head. Her partner on the other hand…

“Is it really wise to wait so long?” Gunmetal gray hair and gray eyes - though one was hidden by that infernal eyepatch.

“It might not seem wise to let it wait, Zeke,” Jin says at last. “But even with your strength, we lack firepower.” The man - growls. There’s a dark, festering anger in him that Jin lacks the ability to understand. Mikhail gives him a sympathetic look, pats his shoulder.

“Shame we can’t just blast the Praetor and his holier-than-thou Titan to the Cloud Sea,” Zeke growls in annoyance, the crystal on his chest glowing and winking with angry intent. Nia merely squeaks, clings to the back of his shirt.

Even angry as he is, Zeke forces himself to soften for her, ruffles short hair and pets her ears. “Easy there,” he says with cheer Jin is sure he doesn’t quite entirely mean. “We’re safe here.” Nia looks up at him, big eyes round as coins and twice as frightened.

She’d latched on to him so tightly after he’d freed her from the muzzle and rope prison Indol’s forces had tied her up in, and Jin could not blame her in the least for her attitude. Zeke was good for her, and he sighs, turns the conversation away to other topics.

There was something unsettling about the pair however, when he looked at them. Particularly odd as well was that neither of their partners had chosen to accompany them. It wasn’t an  _ unwise _ choice - Torna was not a group for the faint of heart.

But.

What it had done to his two newest recruits… Jin looks at the pair, and worries further.

* * *

His Driver didn’t look quite as cute as he used to. The growth spurt had fleshed out what childhood had hidden under baby fat, trimming a soft, delicate figure into the signs of what kind of adult he would be.

Standing at nearly one hundred and eighty centimeters was a  _ massive _ jump in height, and reluctantly, Mal had to admit that yes, his Driver had been right. He was still a little skinny - even eating his own weight in food every hour hadn’t been enough nourishment, and he’d likely look a little underfed for a few weeks while his body stabilized on it’s own and filled out.

Him tripping over anything that stood still long enough, on the other hand…

That was  _ adorable. _

Rex scowling at him makes it clear he’d said that last bit aloud, and he grins sheepishly. It was  _ true, _ so Mal doesn’t feel in the slightest bit chastised when his Driver grumbles his way to his side.

Malos stops cold. He’d… He’d thought of himself as  _ Mal. _ Not of the name he’d had when he first awoke, but of the sweet little nickname Rex had given him, meant endearingly and kindly. His heart aches for some inexplicable reason, and Rex is quick to catch on to his discomfort.

“Is something wrong?” he asks, tilts his head to a side, curious and concerned all at once. Malos leans into Rex’s gentle touch, buries his head into a shoulder briefly.

“I thought of myself as Mal,” he manages, and Rex strokes his hair, openly confused. “I… I  _ liked _ that I was your  _ Mal,” _ he whispers, as though imparting a deep, shameful secret. Rex pulls back, and there’s a softness to those gold eyes that makes him flush. Long fingers cup his cheeks in both hands, and he lets Rex, sighs.

“Do you  _ want _ to be my Mal?” The question is brazenly asked, and he flushes bright pink. The possessive nature of being called someone’s  _ person _ makes him turn several flustered shades, before he nods, embarrassed. Rex’s smile is slow-blooming, lights up the room with how brilliant it becomes.

“Oh  _ Mal, _ ” Rex sighs, their bond flexing in contentment. “I am so  _ happy _ to be your Rex, you know that?”

Mal’s blush threatens to scorch his face. Rex’s  _ Mal. _

That was nice...

* * *

Azurda slows down once they reach the shallow, hidden cove. It’s two hours before the tides will rise, so most creatures have wised up and left. It’s about as private as one might find on Leftheria at Malos’ insistence. Once they arrive, Malos disembarks with a cloth-wrapped bundle in his arms, Rex wobbling along behind his partner.

Predictably, Rex trips. Azurda dips his head so his much taller grandson can catch himself on a horn, the boy doing his best not to yank any long hair.

“Sorry Gramps. Looks like me being right clumsy is on the books for the rest of our time out here,” Rex huffs, looks annoyed and amused with himself. Malos is vibrating with nervous energy, snatches Rex up into a tight hug.

“We really need to start on your recalibration,” Malos frets lightly, scooping his Driver up to settle him firmly on his feet.

Rex rolls his eyes to the sky, but it’s fond. “Heaven save me from my overprotective Blade,” he chuckles to the sky. “I’ve got a swimming block carved out at the guild headquarters, so we at least have that,” Rex pats Malos’ arm, before finding himself a comfy seat, kicks his feet up to observe passively as Malos slowly unwraps his old armor. The material is repaired in full, the broken Ether strings that connected it filled with a softer purple hue than the dark purple of before. Picking it up, Malos pulls a slight face, and the cloth shimmers - changes.

It’s not  _ quite _ a replica of his current gear, but his resemblance was uncanny. Malos begins to strip down, pulling the clothes off under Rex’s watchful gaze. As he is unwrapping the bandages around his chest that hides his Core Crystal, Malos pauses.

With greater caution, Malos slowly unveils the bright glowing crystal.

It’s in far greater health than when Azurda had last seen it. Some of it has regenerated to a bright, glittering jewel-tone, but there was still a dullness to where it had been cracked. It is not yet restored in full, but quite pretty regardless.

With a flush, Malos finishes changing. The clothing is very similar to what Rex had him wear, but there was a little more purple than the original gear, in deference to his element of choice. The leather has been replaced with a more ocean-friendly material, though it remains quite sleek and shiny. The Blade looks anxiously at Rex, who smiles, warm as the sun.

“How are you feeling?” Rex asks, and Malos blushes, flustered but happy.

“Better,” Malos admits, stretches his arms out and relaxing at long last, strides over to plop next to his Driver, head resting against a thigh. There was a contentment through their bond, so quiet and full of understated joy that Azurda could only feel a little chastised at how quickly he had allowed himself to be blinded.

* * *

Vandham was not a man prone to annoyance, but  _ damn. _ He’d gotten one  _ hell _ of a run around from even more mercenary minded friends. He’d heard about the brouhaha going down at Argentum, but he hadn’t realized how involved the boy and his Blade had been until recently.

Approaching the Blade seemed the best bet. From what he’d seen, winning over the boy’s Blade would make it easier for him to get to talk to them both. Decided, Vandham strides into the large pool area. The boy - Rex - was nowhere in sight, but his Blade had the legs of his pants pulled up, feet in the water as he watched the depths with a contemplative expression on his face.

His head snaps up however when he draws nearer, the Blade bristling in protectiveness. Cautiously, Vandham puts his hands up. “Peace,” he says, only earns himself a suspicious look. “I’m not here to cause you any harm. I came looking for a Salvager who could take a contract.” The suspicion doesn’t ebb, though the Blade eases slightly, fingers removing themselves from the  _ oddest _ looking weapon he’d ever had the pleasure of seeing.

“Most people apply through a job board,” The Blade says flatly, and he winces internally. “The truth, if you’d be so kind?”

As though summoned, the Driver surfaces at his obvious hostility. “Mal?” The young man - wait, wasn’t he supposed to be a  _ child? _ \- asks, swims over to lean on his thighs. The Blade’s eyes cut to his Driver, the young man pushing up to speak quietly with him.

A moment of terse conversation, and the Blade relaxes.

“Sorry about that,” the young man chuckles lightly. “Mal’s new to being a Salvager’s Blade. He’s not used to informal contracts. Give me a moment and we can chat.” The young man easily pulls out of the pool, to his Blade’s quiet distress. “Don’t worry Mal - not everyone wants to announce a contract all the time.” Long fingers stroke through dark hair, and the boy smiles. “I’ll be right back.” The boy had an undeniable grace, but it was obviously new - the boy’s glances towards the floor were frequent and hesitant.

The Blade - Mal, he reminds himself - dries his feet and stands up, rolls the legs of his pants down, fluidly standing upright. Gray eyes are narrowed in a suspicious glare, though it softens when the boy returns. His uniform is a tighter fit than it had once been - clearly still in the middle of resizing it for diving.

“I’m Rex,” the boy volunteers, offers a hand out for a hard, firm shake. “This is Mal, my partner. From the sound of it, you were interested in a contract, yeah?” The boy’s businesslike expression was so different to the warm cheer of earlier. “C’mon. It’s early enough that breakfast is being served.”

“My treat,” Vandham interjects, senses the opportunity for what it is. The Blade flicks his gaze between them before - near imperceptibly - softening at the offer. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but when I was pointed your way, I was under the impression you were… er.”

“Short?” The boy grins visibly, and his Blade snorts. Rex fondly brushes his hand over a shoulder, and Mal rolls his eyes, purple-gray eyes amused and bright. “Had a growth spurt scheduled was all - couldn’t let it get in the way of my job,” he says, cheerful.

Rex looks through the options at the breakfast tables, hands on his hips as he hums deeply. While he’s distracted, Vandham sidles closer to Mal.

“Is this whole shooting up like a bamboo tree normal for Salvagers?” he asks,  _ sotto voice. _ Mal gives him another discerning eye, before the Blade relaxes further.

“As far as I’ve gathered from other Salvagers, yes, it is,” he agrees, voice just above a whisper. “The job doesn’t offer much in the way of downtime or vacation days - it’s always a grind to the top with them. Those that can’t afford it usually end up in debt when they take time, not to mention a dive suit gets expensive when it has to be constantly repaired.” Vandham hums, steps back when Rex returns, beaming.

“We’re in for a treat! Auntie dropped off a bunch of peaches, so you get to taste some of the dishes we make for the festival early!” He looks so happy at that, and Vandham shares a curious look with Mal, surprised how easily the two of them seemed to communicate with one another.

Architect, how he wished Roc was here. His partner always knew how to handle this stuff.

“What festival?” he dares to ask, and Rex grins like a Nopon with a sweet deal.

“The Leftheria Longevity Festival - it involves a trip to the Titans to plant flowers and seeds to help boost a Titan’s lifespan,” he explains. “Leftheria does it every year - since the peach tree has finally borne a thousand bushels of fruit. The thousandth peach gets planted on the Titan’s head,” he explains kindly for the baffled pair. “It’s a big deal, and there was a huge fight last month about who got to go.”

Mal looks rebellious. “You bring plenty of prosperity to the isles,” he grumbles, and Rex laughs at his partner, amused.

“I know, I know - but this was decided long before I knew I was going to be here for a few months. I’d normally agree to go, but contracts come first.” Rex nods towards Vandham, who tries not to look as fascinated as he feels. “Anyways - there’s peach curry - it’s real filling, and nobody can resist spice and sugar, right?” the boy jokes.

“Mmm. You sign me right up,” Vandham agrees, grinning. Mal agrees quietly, and the Blade wanders off shortly after Rex pats his arm in reassurance.

“He’s going to get us a table,” Rex explains when he looks askance after the man. “Given you came directly to Mal and I, I’m guessing you want this to be a private conversation, yeah?” Approaching the table, Vandham loads a plate full of spiced rice and curry, watches as the boy cautiously eyes his, before loading up two plates with less than that. Vandham hums, claps the boy on a shoulder.

“Take some more kid - you look ready to waste away!” He says cheerfully. The boy eyes him.

Whatever he sees makes him relax, and he ladles some more out onto the two plates. Vandham pays without protest, and grinning, they’re on their way.

* * *

Malos silently takes bites of his food, eyes the man with deep suspicion. Rex lightly nudges him, but he refuses to remain slightly less vigilant, especially with an unknown man.

Even if he  _ had _ agreed to pay for the meal. Malos savors another bite of curry, mulls over the problem he had. While he had thought of himself as  _ Mal _ in that moment, he’d been rather awkward about thinking such of himself. It was getting easier, the longer he spent time with Rex, but it led to him feeling awkward about himself, regardless of the affection and reassurance he got with his partner.

Instead, he drags himself out of the thoughts to watch his partner as Rex happily takes another bite out of his peach curry.

“So, you wanted a contract?” Rex prompts, and Malos stops eating. He’s almost done anyways, so he can wait until negotiations are done to finish. Vandham, too, is done, the giant of a man setting his spoon down as he eyes them both.

“I’ve heard you’re the Salvager to go to for discreet searches,” he concedes after a long moment of silence. “And that you don’t deal much in salvaging weapons or tools of war.” Rex tilts his head, frowning.

“I’m okay with a moonlight salvage run, yeah,” Rex agrees hesitantly. “But you’re going to have to give me more info on why.” Malos drops a hand to touch it to Rex’s side, fingers lightly pressing against his waist. Rex flashes him a soft smile.

“Last month, a Titan carrying iron ore and other supplies went under. No explanation. My best guess is pirates,” Vandham explains after checking to make sure they’re alone. “Problem is, it’s right between the main Uryayan continent and one of the satellite Titans that stays nearby for safety.”

Rex frowns, plays with his spoon. “It’s the Eastern Uryayan Gorge, isn’t it?” Vandham winces, and Rex gives him a sharp look. “It’s a dangerous passageway through Uryaya because it goes between two Titans that collide on a semi-regular basis,” Rex tells Malos, and he immediately feels a frisson of worry spark up his spine. “That aside, it’s also  _ dangerously _ close to Uryaya’s mouth. The only people who use that route are desperate merchant ships and pirates.” His eyes narrow at the man suspiciously. “What is so valuable there that you’d risk the cost of a moonlight mission  _ and _ the hazard pay it comes with for that area?”

Vandham sighs, scrubbing at the back of his head.

“There’s a box of Core Crystals wedged somewhere in the gorge. I run a mercenary camp, and a lot of the work I do needs Blades - forestry, mineralogy, auction protection, those things. We stay out of the war, but sometimes we need to have partners to watch our back, and anyone with a brain knows that a Blade’s the best partner short of divine intervention,” Vandham admits, watching both of them cautiously.

“You do know that Core Crystals are classed as weapons,” Rex says dryly, and Malos shoots his Driver a faintly confused look. Given that Rex himself thought the designation  _ stupid, _ it was a little confusing why he was saying such a thing. “For a mercenary group, you aren’t convincing me you don’t want to arm yourselves with their power.”

“Blades are no such thing!” Vandham bursts out, startled into reacting, his expression filling with no small annoyance. “They’re people in their own damn right, and just because they’re classed as weapons doesn’t make them any less human!” Before the giant can move, Rex’s hand settles on his arm. Understanding hits Malos, and he fights his amused smirk.

“Relax,” Malos drawls, when Vandham looks ready to stand up. “Rex was just testing you - you can act as sweet as you please, but that doesn’t mean you actually mean it.” Pride ripples through their bond, a little hidden mischief in it as he removes his hand. “We want to believe the best of you, but regardless. Trust, but verify exists for a reason.” Rex’s foot nudges against his calf, and he flickers a warm grin his Driver’s way. “We can talk about a contract, but Rex and I will have to wait until after the festival takes off.”

By then, the fabric that Rex had picked out for the dive-suit should be ready, and Mal could help Connie with making the damned thing so his Driver wouldn’t drown if he went too deep. Rex slides a slight grin his way, and Malos sits back to watch his Driver’s bargaining skills at work.


	14. High Seas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite the treachery of the world around them, those that live on the sea make their own fortune. Sometimes by upgrading their things. Other times by getting lucky.

The festival was certainly  _ loud, _ Malos thinks to himself, watches as a laughing Rex is handed a bowl of fresh peaches, their sweet smell filling the air. He himself is keeping out of the festivities, needle and thread in his hands as he works on the outer-skin of the dive suit.

A suit like Rex’s required three separate layers. His main task was the outer-skin, a single, seamless fitting Ether-based covering that prevented water from rushing into the dive suit and freezing the swimmer to death. The middle layer was Connie’s job - pressure regulating thermal layers did not come cheap, and the network of tiny pipes had to be placed within millimeters of one another to coordinate the oxygen flow to the brain and prevent the dive suit from losing pressure in a key spot while maintaining the integrity of the joints and delicate fingers.

Connie had made Rex his first dive suit, she’d told him with a wink. Given that the suit had lasted a full five years of repeated work, Malos had grudgingly conceded that Connie  _ definitely _ knew what she was doing, and wouldn’t result in his Driver drowning.

The final part of the equation was the inner-skin lining that would function as a wetsuit and keep Rex’s body from seizing in the bitter chill of deeper Cloud Sea waters. Malos had to bargain with a  _ lot _ of Nopon and Salvagers to get his hands on this, and that was compounding what Connie had already started doing. Even a single bolt of fabric had all but emptied Malos’ wallet.

Regardless, the shining skin had been  _ worth _ it. Pretty veins of darkness flexes in time as he painstakingly places the next Ether-stitch into it, watching the fabric melt into a seamless whole from where he had sewn it together. A particularly brave Littlepon clambers up on the table to watch him, looks wide-eyed at the work. He chuckles and makes room so his exploratory friend could settle on his lap to admire the fine stitchery. Rex comes by with a bright grin, offers him a slice or two of peach from sticky-sugared fingers.

Mal eyes him. Rex looks as though butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, innocence playing with mischief. Sighing, Malos takes a bite, jolts internally at the realization that yet again, he’d thought of himself as  _ Mal. _ It’s simultaneously warming and alarming. The burst of peaches over his tongue is sweet and the faintest hint of spicy, and he swallows, smiles at his Driver.

“Thank you Rex,” he says, and Rex beams happily, offers a bite to the curiously sniffing Littlepon. A small munch on the peach, and the Littlepon happily squeaks, nuzzles against his stomach as it settles down for a nap. Content, Malos returns to his work, watches the festivities between his needlepoint. Malos settles into his seat more firmly, doesn’t look back up until Connie finds him.

Her light tut makes him blink away from his task, looking up at her in confusion. “You work too much,” she tells him sternly, and he flushes.

“I want Rex to be safe,” Malos admits quietly. “I can’t be there when he dives, so I want this to be perfect - to keep him safe without me there.” Connie’s hand settles on his shoulder in open sympathy, and he tries not to startle when she kisses the top of his head.

“You’re a good man, Mal,” Connie says fondly, and Malos can’t help but flush bright red.

* * *

“Mal, you can only do so many nice things for me before I start blubbering like a baby,” Rex tells him in embarrassment as they walk up to the first floor of the orphanage. Mal, in response, tugs at his Driver’s brown hair, gets him to laugh and bat at his hand.

“Tough luck - you’ll get nice things anyways,” Mal’s voice is light and teasing, and he rolls his eyes at his Blade. “I want to keep you safe, Rex. All of the things I give you are for that.” Rex sighs, plants his face against Mal’s chest and nuzzles him, arms wrapping around a broad chest. Mal stiffens slightly in surprise, but he’s already in the motion of wrapping his arms around Rex, head dropping to rest on top of Rex’s own. Rex squeezes him tight, the breath leaving Mal in a startled sort of half-wheeze, half-laugh.

“I’m so happy you’re my partner Mal,” Rex tells him sincerely, and Mal hums low in his throat, pleased beyond words.

“I’m happy you’re my partner too,” Mal tells him fondly, kisses the top of his head. “C’mon, Rex. I want to see your reaction.” Rex rolls his eyes, but obediently goes along, only to pull up short.

_ Sleek. _ And expensive. Mal had spent some  _ serious _ G to make this for him, and Rex tries not to burst into tears the moment Mal’s hands leave his hips. He darts closer, fingers skimming the sleek fabric as it skates under his skin like silk in water.

Oh.  _ Oh. _

Tears well up in Rex’s eyes as the depth of  _ care _ gone into the suit hits him. Mal… Mal  _ really _ did care about him, didn’t he? He squeezes Mal in another hug, buries his head into Mal’s chest to avoid him seeing Rex cry.

His Mal was so  _ good _ to him that it ached in the  _ best _ of ways. He looks up at Mal’s gray eyes, sees the warmth in them, before burying himself deeper into the hug.

He  _ loved _ Mal so bloody much, and the boy sniffles against his chest, tries his hardest not to blurt the words out.

Mal was getting better. He  _ was. _ But he didn’t think Mal was ready to hear Rex telling him that he loved him quite yet. Rex squeezes him tightly one more time, and eagerly goes back over to his gift, disassembling the suit so he could eye the creation and all the extra toolkit additions. Mal had added the canister extension - and  _ ooh, _ there was the hookshot right there, fitted with - oh.  _ Awww, dammit Mal. _

“You got more Ether crystals?” Rex says, touched. Mal grins slyly, hugs him from behind. The glittering crystal hookshot shines mischievously in the light.

“I told you - I’m not losing you,” Mal says, and it’s practically a  _ confession _ from him. The bond glows and warms like sunlight at his words, and Rex buries his head into his hands, sniffling happily.

“You’re too good to me,” Rex whines, deep red flush on his cheeks as he desperately turns and cuddles Mal, wraps their bond tight around him. Mal gives a deep, husky chuckle.

“Funny. I was about ready to say the same for you,” Mal teases him quietly, cradles _his_ Rex close.

* * *

“Posh little suit you’ve got there,” Vandham says, torn between admiring the outfit and staring at the teenager. Rex looked… well. He was a right handsome bugger now, dressed sharp and bright gold eyes shimmering in the early morning light.

Those  _ gold _ eyes, however… They reminded him of a particularly striking portrait. The fabled Tornan gold, as bright as the ore they once mined from the depths of their Titan. It was a rare, precious shade only a handful could claim to have, and was often a sign of one descended from the most coveted royal line in history.

How a boy of the famed hero’s line ended up in  _ this _ backwater little place would require some… creative digging.

Curiously, he allows himself to observe the boy more keenly, the amused indulgence on Rex’s face enough to tell him that this was a common occurrence of the day. The suit is a  _ sleek, _ pretty thing, and was constructed with clear, obvious care. Standing back, Vandham looks him up and down. Actually… if Mal’s core had been hidden, he might have mistaken Rex for the Blade rather than the Driver.

The boots were new - heavy, sturdy black material with thicker material for the stitches. Handwoven waxed cord, if he didn’t miss his guess, which was no easy cord to get in a Salvager’s Market. Coming up to the middle of his calves, they had buckles running the whole length of them, backed by a twisting mechanism at the top that cinched it far more tightly than just belts or laces. From there, Vandham guessed there were probably two - or more - layers on him.

The outer layer looked a lot like the suit he’d met the kid in - though it had been cut to size with a newer, flexible hide to replicate the silhouette he’d had. Or perhaps because he wanted pockets. It could go either way with Salvagers. His left arm was gloved up to the middle of his bicep with the same dark material of his inner suit, crystalline bands of material holding it firmly in place and dancing light lines of Ether over the skin. He had some sort of hook mechanism attached to the lower half of his arm, and a back-plate over the hand to guard against punctured flesh. It was a practical choice, and judging by the leads, it was attached to a trigger mechanism, which Vandham decided to question the boy about later.

His right arm only had a single glove to the wrist with a similar crystalline brace around it, and when the boy flips his hand over, he can see the rubber grip on the inner layer that must have been an aid for holding weapons. The jacket had been redesigned with swimming in mind, cut shorter to wrap tight around his torso and built from the same material as his boots. The helmet was redefined to an underwater breathing mask instead, similar to the kind he’d seen on the Pearl Divers that worked off the coast of Leftheria.

Very little of his skin was exposed, and when taken as a whole, the garb in black and darkly rich blues, Vandham couldn’t help but compare it to the kid of old.

Even though he had only seen Rex in that outfit - and that height - once, there was an undeniable change to him. He looked far more graceful and adult in the clothing he wore, not to mention far more serious.

He hardly recognized the young man standing before him as the boy he had heard many a fond tale about from other Salvagers.

Idly, Vandham wondered how many of Rex’s old associates would recognize him upon his return to the Argentum Trade Guild.

“It really is a bit more posh than I feel comfortable with,” Rex’s grin is a bit shy. “But Mal put all this effort into making it, so least I can do is get comfortable with it, yeah?” The boy stretches out, and a light flash of purple darts down the cosmetic seams of his suit. Mal’s cheeks flush, but he’s obviously pleased, the taller - if only slightly - of the pair ruffling his partner’s hair.

“You’re ridiculous.” The words are said fondly, so Vandham doubts that it was meant as much of anything  _ but _ a fond chastisement. Rex grins, shy and pleased. “How are we traveling?” Mal asks him, and Vandham shrugs a little.

“I paid freight to get here,” Vandham admits. “A Titan for travel is expensive as shite to get, even with my connections.” Rex hums low in his throat, and the boy smirks slightly.

“How much?” Rex asks him, and he answers.

“About seven thousand G, roughly,” Vandham says, and Rex hums lightly. He and Mal share a loaded glance filled with all manner of conversation before Rex shrugs, pastes an easy smile on.

“Follow me.”

Perplexed, Vandham does so.

* * *

Malos decides to follow behind them both - partly out of practicality, partly because he wanted to see how the others reacted to Rex’s new clothing. You could tell a lot about people by their reaction to a person’s looks. Something he’d noticed was that before, eyes had slid over his beloved Driver, one look had dismissed him as a green Salvager with more curiosity than sense.

They weren’t  _ wrong, _ but it had grated that the few in-person clients had preferred to speak to him because Rex was too  _ childish. _ Ha. But now… It seemed every client and their mother wanted to talk to Rex, to compliment him. Rex would smile, laugh a little, even chat with them as manners dictated - though his bond was growing steadily more uncomfortable as the moments passed, overwhelmed by the sudden rush of admirers.

Scowling, Mal steps in, can feel a thrill at the realization of his own self-awareness changing again, pulling Rex back and giving his best glare at the amassed crowd, who scatter when he turns his glare on them. Rex relaxes against his chest, heaves a quiet sigh of relief. Vandham looks between them curiously, but says nothing.

The crowd doesn’t bother them again, and once they hit the docks, Rex frees himself from Malos, darts over to his Grandfather. The Titan yawns, unfolding his head from under his wing before startling at the sight of Rex.

“Goodness, Rex!” Grandfather sounds surprised, dips his head down to nuzzle him. “Look at how you’ve grown - turning into quite the handsome lad already!” Here he chuckles. “I see that Mal and Connie have to beat people off of you with a stick.” Rex’s face flushes a bright shade of red, flustered protests leaving his lips.

Malos fights his smirk, strides closer to stroke the top of Grandfather’s head. The Titan allows him to, before he turns to face Vandham. “Grandfather, I’d like to introduce you to Vandham. He’s hired us for a moonlight mission on Uryaya.” The Titan raises a large brow in inquiry.

“I assume you’d like transport? If we go now, it’s only two hours following the Tantal East and branching off the Southern Indol current. It’ll move quickly until sunset,” Grandfather remarks shrewdly, and Malos wishes he could see the look on Vandham’s face, content with the snickering giggly feeling Rex passed through their bond.

“Auntie blessed the mission - she said it was good for me to get a job during the festival, because it was a sign of fortune for the isles,” Rex shrugs with a smile. “Gramps’ back should have enough room for all three of us to sit and chat on the way,” he adds lightly to the mountain of a man. Vandham hums, scratches his chin in thought.

“I’m guessing that’s why you asked about my fare price?” Vandham guesses, and Rex grins, bright and broad.

“Right in one!” Rex rubs his thumb over his nose, grinning. “So, what I’m thinking is that you can pay us a quarter of that fare, and since Mal and I haven’t been to Uryaya before, you can pay for a week at the inn.” Rex is obviously teasing by the mischievous grin on his face, and Malos fights back a chuckle at his joyful amusement. “That’s not even half of your fare, if my math is correct.”

Malos can’t resist, turns to see the boggled expression on Vandham’s face as the man does his own math, blinks at the realization that yes, Rex was correct. Malos can’t help the slight grin on his face, turns away to talk to Grandfather.

“I’m guessing Connie packed us some things to go?” He asks quietly while Rex talks with Vandham, curiously friendly and warm. The large Titan’s head bobs up and down. “Great, then we should be good for the trip.” Gently, Malos strokes down over his snout with a smile. “I’ll get everything packed up, set the depth probe into travel mode, and make sure the back’s swabbed down, okay?”

Grandfather gently butts his head against Malos’s chest. “You’re a good lad. Sorry I didn’t see that earlier.” Malos smiles, doesn’t answer as he goes to clean the deck down and do as he’d promised.

It was nice… to know he had improved from the person he used to be.

* * *

Angela’s hair was a voracious bundle of curls, and Akhos raises a brow in curious inquiry.

“No wonder you keep it so tightly pinned,” Akhos quips, and Angela’s expression curls into an amused smile. “If I had to fight curls like yours on any regular day, I’d hack it all off,” he remarks with a smile. Angela can’t help her own smile, it seems, and she chuckles, her Blade swooping down to preen her hair.

“Normally I would have done the same, but curls like mine only get worse the shorter my hair becomes, so I’ve learned how to deal with it,” she says with a faint grimace. He chuckles slightly, offers to take the brush.

“I’ve helped an old friend with her hair before. If you’d like, I don’t mind aiding you,” he offers tentatively, and her smile is slight, but appreciative.

“Such a gentleman,” she chuckles, but willingly relinquishes the brush into his hands, Akhos carefully sorting through the mess and gently tugging the brush through her long, curled locks. They’re truly quite pretty, with thick, lustrous strands glistening in the early morning light.

It’s early. Early enough that even the smiths were not yet up to stoke their forges and the bakers had yet to light their ovens. It was surprisingly peaceful. Nearly unbidden, the blue shine of her hair turns a glossy black, the hair within his grasp still as unruly, but shorter.

_ Akhos! _ The owner of the voice is long dead, sparkling eyes hidden behind her glasses as she giggles at him.  _ C’mon slowpoke! I’ve got to get ready for my next dive! _

Startled, Akhos comes back to reality, Angela’s hair brushed and tangle-free, the healer peering up at him in genuine concern. Their eyes are not the same color - Angela’s eyes are pretty shade of coppery amber, almost golden without being  _ quite _ the Tornan gold of legend, while his Driver’s eyes had always been more on the mossy side - a pale green with flecks of gray in it.

“I...” It’d been so long since he’d thought of his Driver - what had brought it up  _ now, _ of all times? Angela is waiting for him to respond, to speak to her, and he shakes his head vigorously. “I’m sorry - I got lost in thought,” he says at last, startled by his own lapse. Angela takes the brush from unresisting fingers, and he watches her put it away before steadily pinning her hair back in a methodical movement. She had clearly done this on her own, but he finds himself moving to help her, twisting the hair out of the way and up into a neat, tight bun.

“Are you alright?” Angela asks, and Akhos frowns to himself.

“I’m fine,” he says. “Brushing your hair reminded me of my friend,” he hedges. “It merely caught me off guard,” Akhos reassures, and Angela frowns at him in mild worry. “It shouldn’t happen again.”

“If you’re sure,” she says dubiously, content to leave him be, pats his arm. “Come along. There’s a Nopon eatery that’s up at this hour for the late-night Salvagers heading in for the day.” Akhos follows behind his charge, makes sure to lock up the door.

When he turns around, he has to fight a smile. Her Blade is preening her hair, fruitlessly trying to tug a curl or two free for it to mess with. The look on Angela’s face is nothing short of annoyed amusement. With a light sigh, Akhos leans closer, reaches a hand out and pulls one of the pins free, freeing a single thick curl to let it frame her face. She gives him a mock scowl, and he allows his amused smile free.

“It was this or they pull a dozen bobby pins free and send those pretty curls everywhere,” he says with a faint chuckle. Angela rolls her eyes as she takes the bobby pin back.

“That logic actually made sense,” she grumbles, the Blade chirping their thanks as they gleefully preen the freed lock of hair. “And you,” Angela taps her Blade gently upon the beak, “are very lucky I adore you, hair-theft issues aside.”

Akhos can be forgiven for snickering at that. Once they reach the common areas, Akhos politely distances himself, follows behind at a firm three paces while Angela greets her employees and patients, her medical kit taken by him when he notes - aloud - that it was past the weight limit Brendan had given her.

The glare he gets for that comment would have made lesser men flinch, but Akhos is firmly determined, and follows his contract to the letter. Hefting the box up, he marvels at the weight.

“You must be much stronger than you look,” Akhos remarks as he carries the medical pack. “What did you stuff in here, a pack animal and three tons of bandages?” Akhos jokes lightly. Angela snorts, and her Blade swoops in to land on the pack.

It suddenly weighs as light as a feather. Akhos doesn’t quite gape, but it’s a near thing.

_ Where in the hell did she find a Blade like them? _


	15. Legacy of the Aegis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are truths that need to be said, and stubborn wills cannot override them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am one chapter away from the scene I wrote this whole darn fic just to finally get to.
> 
> But don't worry, it doesn't end there. There's a lot more I want to get to with this series.

“Empty.” Zeke’s tone is flatter than the Mor Ardain Titan, the broad-shouldered Tantalese fighter tossing the door aside with a scowl. “Whoever was here before these bandits sure cleaned up after themselves.” Jin nods back at him, sighing as he wipes his blade clean of blood.

“I’m not surprised. Brothels like these pack up and move all of the time,” Jin scowls at the corpses littering the hall. “These idiots had no intel worth the time of day either - they’d never even heard of an Angela.” Zeke snorts, shakes his head, and moves on, allows him a measure of peace while he thought more about the task of which Akhos had requested of them.

Tracking the healer took time. She’d traveled a fair bit, though she’d been known well by the whores of the downtown Mor Ardain pleasure district as one of the few travelling healers that wouldn’t turn her nose up at anyone needing aid, regardless of  _ what _ kind of aid they had needed.

Having spoken to a few of those women, seen their glassy eyes and split lips and bruise-darkened wrists and hips, Jin could guess what kind of care Angela had provided. Some girls still had the herbs she’d provided - his lip curls into a faint sneer at the recognition of it.

Lora had taken the tincture every day once her monthlies had come, as a preventative measure, she’d told him.

He’d never found out for what until years after her death. Despite that, he takes the tin that one of the ladies had provided him, pulls it out to observe the label.  _ A Lady’s Tonic For Delicate Matters. _ It was so clean, sweetly labeled.

He suspected that the woman who had given it to him thought he had a girl on the side he wanted to give it to, and his fist nearly crumples the tin into useless slag.

“Oi!” Zeke yells from a room over, and Jin winces, puts the tin away. Following the young man’s voice wasn’t difficult with the way he was cursing up a storm. “Fucking useless heap of junk, how in the bloody ninth circle of hell is any reasonable bloke supposed - oh you  _ narky fucking tit what, you think that was clever-” _

If nothing else, Jin had to appreciate his creativity. Rounding the corner, Jin can see what has him so up in arms, draws his katana in a blur of motion. Natives.  _ Mutated _ natives, at that, and he quickly dispatches them, takes a look at Zeke.

Winces. A thin needle had pierced the skin, and moving quickly, Jin freezes it in case it was the kind that had poison within the belly of it. A quick yank frees the needle, and Zeke curses a vivid blue streak.

Oh.

Oops. The loss of flesh was minimal, and he offers a potion to aid with the pain. Zeke grimaces as he unstoppered the bottle with his teeth, spitting the cork out on the ground and taking a hefty swallow, unable to suppress a wince at the taste. Zeke swallows another mouthful, before taking a rag out and dunking it in the remainder, pressing the soaked rag against the healing wound.

“Next time, watch what you’re freezing, yeah? Hate for you to do that closer to my soft bits,” Zeke’s joke is dry as dust, and Jin shrugs, deliberately casual.

“No big loss,” he quips in return, and Zeke flies the fingers his way, amused and annoyed. “Where did this thing come from?” He asks, and Zeke jerks a thumb to the left.

Huh. Hidden behind the mantelpiece - which was now a baker’s dozen worth of rubble on the ground.

“An escape route, by the looks of it,” Jin murmurs.

This mission was shaping up to be  _ interesting. _

* * *

Cole doesn’t usually wander around the docks, but inspiration was low these days - he’d not found anything worth composing a play for in nearly five years, and he’d promised Addam that the play he’d written about his journey up to the World Tree would remain unpublished so long as his dearest friend wished it. Meandering down the steps, Cole stops.

“My word,” he murmurs under his breath, startled. It had been centuries since he’d seen that familiar color combination on a Titan. Cautiously, he hurries down the steps. Addam’s  _ Nuncle _ was always a good friend for a chat, though he’d spent most of his time in Fonsett.

“Careful there lad,” Vandham’s voice is cheerful as he takes a step off the back of Azurda, the Titan also watching someone with sharp eyes. “The dock isn’t the most stable of places,” he chuckles, the mercenary crossing his arms.

“Been to worse docks, definitely,” the voice that answers is young and cheery, full of a life that he envied. The boy that jumps on the dock - well.

Boy was an  _ inaccurate _ term to use on him. Sleek, lean lines, pretty face and a bright smile. He’s a  _ handsome _ fellow, leading man material that would make the girls at his playhouse swoon. There’s a lean grace in his frame, so willowy and sweet that if Cole had a half a mind, he could have written an entire play based on his grace alone.

The third figure that steps off turns him stiff. He isn’t in armor, his hair is down and around his face in an unruly mess - the sea and the wind having tousled it beyond recognition for anyone not a Blade.

But he…

“Rex, please be more careful.” The hated voice is full of worry, of concern, and irrationally, anger surges up within him, makes him wish he could summon his weapons and stab the damn Blade in the back. Dark eyes sweep the area, and the face makes no recognition upon seeing him, though curiosity fills the expression at the sight of Cole. The figure turns away to ask Vandham a question. “Friend of yours, Vandham?” Vandham turns to see him, waves.

He gives a tight smile in return, shakes his head, and after another tight look at the _monster,_ he turns on his heel and strides away, far too quickly to be anything but running away.

* * *

Mal watches him leave, expression torn with worry and concern, and Rex touches his waist, watches how his Blade doesn’t stop following the man with his eyes. Gramps too, watches the man go.

“Huh. Cole usually ain’t that brusque,” Vandham looks perplexed, and Rex can feel the bond twist - first in confusion, then mild outrage, and then -

Crushing understanding.

“He met me before I was your Blade,” Mal guesses flatly, and Gramps winces; which really, was answer enough. “I made a lot of enemies, didn’t I?” The smile is twisted and bittersweet. Rex envelops his Blade in a hug, the two tangled together. Vandham stands, an awkward bystander in an uncomfortable situation.

“I can go talk to him,” Vandham offers lightly, glancing between the pair. “Cole and I go way back - if you two don’t mind waiting here, I’ll get your stuff set up for the inn and chat with Cole, see what happened there. You lot okay with hunkering down for a few hours?”

Rex hums. “I have a better idea. Where’s the marketplace? I’ve got some stuff to sell, and I wanna see what the Nopons around here are made of.” Mal’s bond curls around him, guiltily pleased that Rex was giving him something to do other than worry. Vandham eyes him, but chuckles.

“I feel like I unleashed a monster,” he chuckles, but obligingly leads Rex and Mal up to a large courtyard. Rex’s grin is nothing short of evil, and he knows Mal is chuckling quietly, eager to distract himself. Once Vandham has left, Rex slips his hand into Mal’s own, tugs him along as they eye the various wares for sale. They have fun, Rex eyeing the pretty wares on sale before selling his own at sharply marked-up prices.

In under an hour, Rex has the Nopons in the market trembling from fear of him. They’ve bought a handful of things - a scope for the depth probe that was easily repairable, some lenses that Rex wanted to try out for fine detail work on Salvage equipment, a packet of seeds that Mal had thought Auntie Connie might like for her garden, and some new gloves for Auntie from Rex, since he’d recalled a letter where she’d complained at length about them.

Mal was curiously staring at a pair of earrings, simple metal studs with bright purple stones. The Nopon was trying to convince him to buy the pair, but Rex lightly tugs at Mal’s hand.

“They aren’t quality enough,” Rex tells his Blade dryly. “If you want earrings, we can look for a jeweler who isn’t trying to sell sea glass as amethyst.” The Nopon looks outraged, and Rex leans in with a sharp, slanting smirk. “I’m a  _ Salvager. _ Don’t tell me I don’t know shiny glass when I see it -  _ especially _ when my job relies on being able to accurately identify dross from gold.”

He leans back, and Mal’s shoulders are shaking, laughter bubbling softly from his lips. He guides his Blade away, presses a kiss to Mal’s cheek when his Blade leans against him. Mal’s eyes flick wide open, and a flush covers his cheeks, bright and full of embarrassed affection.

The clearing of a throat makes both turn to face Vandham, and the look on his face sobers them both.

* * *

“No.” Rex says flatly, the moment the door shuts behind them. “Absolutely bloody not.” Rex clearly knew what Mal was going to ask, and disapproved immediately.

“I need to know,” Malos’s voice is desperate, the Blade’s voice cracking. He couldn’t - wouldn’t - forget the hate in those eyes, the bright rage in them when Vandham had addressed the stranger.

“Is it actually a need to know or just a glutton for punishment?” Rex snaps back, fingers curling into fists where they’re curled his jacket. “It’s in the  _ past! _ Dammit Mal, let it  _ lie, _ please!”

“I can’t!” Malos snaps, shaking. “What if he comes after you, or hurts-” Malos chokes the words off, shaking and his feelings sneaking over to Rex through the bond. Malos can’t help it - the thoughts of Rex, cold and dead on a slab or burning to ashes is more than he can handle, and the fear in him is practically drowning Malos. “You’re mine, dammit!” Malos tells Rex fiercely, his Driver stepping back in startled surprise, grip loose as Malos paces. “Mine, and if anyone hurt you, I don’t know what I’d do!”

“Don’t you think that goes both ways? I can see what this is doing to you, how this is tearing you apart!” Rex recovers, steps close enough for Malos to see the bright, burning gold of his eyes, the anger in them. “It’s done, it’s over! It shouldn’t haunt you or hurt you just because some berk held a grudge! You should be allowed to move on, same as any other person!”

Rex’s fire is as stubborn as his, and Malos finds himself wavering.

“My old Driver is still alive, out there somewhere! As long as he’s alive, this will  _ never _ be over, don’t you get it? How many more people will I meet whose lives I ruined, whose livelihoods will forever be my sins to hold? You deserve to know what happened too! You’re the one who rescued me, and all I’ve done is bring you trouble, dragged you into things that you would have otherwise been safe from!” Malos’s voice twists, hate and self-loathing. “You heard Grandfather - he knows, and he hasn’t said anything because I know you told him not to - I  _ knew _ that you were going to stop it, but I don’t get  _ why _ you keep doing this.”

“Because dammit, I hate it when the person I love hurts themselves for no damn reason!” Rex snaps, before pulling up short at the look on Malos’s face.

_ Love? _

Malos doesn’t know why it hits so hard now, of all times. Rex had told him that he’d loved him before, back when they first arrived at Leftheria, but that had been flippant, the stakes nothing more than some mild annoyance. But now…

“You love me?” His voice wobbles slightly, and Rex softens; reaches for him as Malos stumbles close, damn near collapses to his knees before Rex. His Driver takes a seat on the bed, Malos looking up at him with wide, hopeful eyes.

“Of course I love you, my silly Blade.” His voice is soft, hands cupping his face the way he always does when Malos is overwhelmed. Softly, Rex traces his thumbs over Malos’s cheeks, wipes the tears that had escaped away gently, cautiously. “You’re  _ mine. _ I’d burn the world down to keep you safe, just like you’d burn the world down to take care of me.”

Something inside his heart -

Cracks. The dark, empty space within himself opens like a shaft of sunlight through an unopened cave.

“I...” How could he articulate what he felt back to Rex when  _ love _ seemed so flimsy in comparison to Rex’s own confession? Their bond strengthens; wraps tight around them like a weave of liquid sunlight. “Love you too,” he whispers softly, as something inside finally,  _ finally, _ lets go.

This time, when it comes, he lets the tears fall.

* * *

Sleep comes for him in a rush of watching the summer rains outside of the inn window. To his surprise, this is not a far away, lush land like the last few dreams, but instead looks to be the top of the Uryayan Titan’s head, where a coliseum stands, looking freshly built.

The rains have followed him, the warm water splashing over his face. It truly feels quite lovely, so he divests himself of his jacket, ties it ‘round his waist to enjoy the feeling of summer. Slowly, he turns around, takes in the area as the rains slick back his hair and leave him feeling refreshed.

Admitting how he felt about  _ his _ Driver had been a rush - a joyful feeling that was dampened only by the sober understanding that he would still push to see the mysterious playwright named  _ Cole. _ But he would win the argument - even if he had to have Rex with him every step of the way just to soothe his protective Driver.

“My my, Logos, I’ve never seen you in such a fancy outfit.” The name is unfamiliar, but it makes Mal turn to face the stranger. He’s charming - a playful tilt to his head, silver hair plastered to his face as surely as Mal’s own was. His own jacket was tied around his waist as well, the white shirt plastered to his skin. “Taking after your older brother at last?” The words are teasing, and Mal tilts his head in confusion. The red crystal on his necklace catches Mal’s attention, but only briefly.

“Have… we met?” He asks, confused. The teasing smile fades, and worry fills the handsome man’s face.

“Of course we have. We’re siblings, you, me, and ...” He’d said a name. Mal  _ knew _ he’d said a name. But for some inexplicable reason, the words had turned into the endless static of rushing wind. “Don’t you remember, Logos?”

Mal shakes his head. “No. If I had siblings, I would hope I remember it.” Frustration fills him, and the stranger looks worried. Fingers skim over a shoulder, slides down to hold his hand in worried concern.

“Logos, what happened?” He doesn’t shrug off the touch, surprised that he felt  _ safe _ enough for the stranger to do so.

He does draw the line when the silver-haired man tries to reach for his true Core Crystal, gently eases away. “I appreciate the concern, but let's not go touching damaged things,” he says, and a rush of furious protectiveness fills the stranger’s face.

“Who hurt you?” The snarl is protective, and Mal huffs a broken laugh.

“If only I knew,” Mal answers bitterly. It’s not a lie, and the silver-haired man looks devastated on his behalf, pulling him into a hug.

“Tell me, then,” the stranger insists. With nothing to lose, Mal does. This man feels  _ safe, _ comforting even. As though he truly was a brother to Mal.

Privately, Mal hopes that it is true, and even he has loved ones.

* * *

From behind the throne, a teal-haired beauty watches, lips pursed into a soft, thoughtful frown.

* * *

The knock on his door is unexpected. After Vandham left, he’d hoped that the way he’d left would discourage anyone from bothering him for at  _ least _ a few days. Heaving a sigh, Cole stands and yanks the door open.

Damn near slams it shut again.

Up close, the monster of his nightmares looks surprisingly worried. The Core Crystal of the hated  _ Aegis _ is hidden, a false crystal of bright purple roses dancing with it’s own playful fire. He has no weapon, and there’s a sort of anxiety in his expression.

“M-might we talk?” He seems harmless in comparison to the pretty-boy Driver, who is glaring at him with obvious protectiveness. The boy presses a soft hand against the Aegis’s waist.

“I’ll be outside.” His murmur is quiet, a final glare given to Cole before he leaves the two alone.

“What do you want?” he asks, knows he’s being rude. Faint relief on his face, and Cole eyes him with deep suspicion.

“You know of me? From… before?” The question is hesitant, but it rocks Cole back on his heels. This had to be some kind of trick, he thinks, but the worried curiosity is too real to be a joke. Long talks with Mythra - and Pyra - had convinced him that the Aegis could not be  _ made _ to forget something so critical without  _ serious _ intervention

“You know that what I have to say will hurt,” Cole realizes that fact out loud, and there’s a wryness to the expression.

“I’m well aware,” the Blade agrees quietly. “But my Driver… He deserves to know the danger I pose to him, how much he risks by keeping me.” There’s a fondness in his tone when he speaks about his Driver, a yearning affection that for any other Blade, Cole would have been happy for.

“Come in then, Malos.” The Blade startles at his real name, but obediently enters, does not sit until Cole provides him a seat. “What do you go by?” He asks.

Anything to distance himself from the monster he had always imagined Malos to be.

“Mal.” It’s simple, but easy enough to remember, and Cole takes a seat, grabs himself a bottle of rum. The Blade gives it a crossways look, as though he’s not sure if he can scold Cole for drinking, but severely wanting to do so regardless. It reminds him of his granddaughter to an almost comical degree. Mal winces when Cole takes a swig, same as his daughter.

“Tell me how you ended up here, and I’ll tell you whatever you want.” Cole tells him, the bottle held in a loose grip. Mal swallows nervously, but at his pointed look, he begins, quiet.

“I don’t entirely remember being pulled out of the Cloud Sea...”


	16. Halcyon Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quiet life is but a dream of fools.

Mal is shivering against Rex. Oh, did Rex wish he could give  _ Cole  _ a piece of his mind, but Mal had refused, clung to him like a child and begged him to stay. Furious as he was, he wasn’t about to leave his Blade, especially when he was in such a state. Softly, Rex cradles Mal’s head with his left hand, feels his Blade quietly shudder in his sleep, small and hurting. Carefully, Rex presses a kiss to the top of Mal’s head, hears a soft sigh from Mal as his Blade eases into the affection.

Slowly, Rex escapes Mal’s hold, uses their bond to wrap him tight with his love, and Mal whines weakly, but remains content to be entangled in their connection. Rex is careful to keep Mal safe in the bond, sits up and runs a hand through his hair.

Vandham had other business to attend to before they started the moonlight mission, so as promised, he had paid in full for a luxurious week’s stay so that the Sea would hit low tide, making the journey out to the cave system that he would need access to much easier. Rex scrubs at his face, leaves the bed to look at himself in the mirror.

He doesn’t quite recognize himself. He can still see his eyes, glittering in the late evening light, and even though much of him had changed, at least  _ that _ was recognizable. The rest of him… it was as though a stranger had taken his skin and stretched it out like taffy, pulling and reshaping him until he could only just identify himself as Rex on a good day.

Slowly, fingers trail down a cheek, cups the stranger’s face with a hand. He can feel his hand, yet it felt so foreign that he might as well have been touching someone else.

Growth sickness wasn’t unusual for Salvagers to encounter, especially after a forced puberty, but Rex blinks slowly, mouth dry as he tries to realize who he is in the mirror. He can’t recognize himself at all, too tall, too elegant, too  _ adult. _ As though he had been shaped into the dream of himself, not the reality.

Wistfully, he wishes Mal had managed to talk him out of it, to let him grow naturally instead of forcing himself to be tall and able to work just because he couldn’t fall behind on his bloody ranking. His head presses against the mirror, Rex forcing a breath in and out of his lungs.

Even his voice was changing on him. Little cracks, his already fairly mature voice deepening as part of the reaction his growth had foisted on him. The stranger wearing his colors, his skin, his  _ eyes _ stares back, empty and hollow and alone.

So lost in the sight of the impostor, Rex startles at the feeling of arms wrapping around his waist, a familiar face settling on the stranger’s shoulders. Mal. His Blade is sleep-ridden, nuzzles his face into Rex’s - the stranger’s - neck fondly.

“Something wrong?” Mal asks softly, a light kiss pressed under an ear as he holds the strange form of Rex in his arms. Rex doesn’t answer, and that seems to be enough for Mal, his Blade gently dragging him off to their shared bed. The bond hums back to life - and when had Rex dropped it, anyways? - twines around them in a curl of affection. He allows Mal to bully him back into bed, hides his face in Mal’s chest.

“Love you,” he murmurs, unable to think or say anything else. Mal hums, deep and low, a vibrating hum that echoed like a singer’s voice in an empty temple.

“Love you too,” Mal tells him in return, soft and quiet, even in the confines of their room.

In the morning, Rex would have to face the stranger in the mirror. He would have to relearn his body, his grace, his soul.

But that was for the morning, when Rex was well-rested. Tonight, Mal had no intentions of letting him leave the bed again.

* * *

“...le? Cole?” Vandham pokes his nose into Cole’s study, finds the man hard at work, quill zipping across the paper as though possessed. Papers are scattered everywhere, crumpled first drafts and incomplete notes all over the place, pinned to cork walls and delicate letters. They loop and twist, words dancing over the pages like a child’s laugh.

“Not now!” Cole flaps a hand at him, and Vandham puts his hands up. Looked like that talk Mal had with him was more than just good for Mal - Cole hadn’t been so animated in years. “I have so many ideas - I never even thought of some of the stuff that Mal told me, let alone all of the  _ intricacies _ of a bond with a Driver...” he devolves into furious muttering, and Vandham sighs, looks down to see Cole’s granddaughter watching him with an exasperated look on her young face, a tray of food in hand.

“I tie him up, you feed him?” he mock-whispers, and Cole’s head unturtles from where it’s half-hidden in his hood, glares at them.

It’d look more threatening if he didn’t have ink splatter on his forehead. Or a loose feather attached to his face. Iona giggles in amusement, lifts a tray full of cinnapon rolls and juice. Cheerful, she skips over the loose papers and sets the tray on his desk, reaching up to pluck the feather from his face. He lets her with a grumble, ruffles her hair with a hand and a slight smile.

“Brought breakfast!” She declares quietly, and Cole sighs, gives in to the inevitable. Grinning, Vandham nods to himself, hooks a foot around the chair to sit, hefts the little girl up on one leg.

“So, you have time to talk now?” Vandham asks, bounces her on a knee as she squeals happily. Cole, halfway through a roll, glares at him.

“I’m eating! Later,” he admonishes, and Vandham smirks, gets a giggle from the little girl in his arms. When Cole finishes and guzzles the last of his drink, Vandham raises an eyebrow in question. Cole looks at them both, glares some more, before giving up his creative binge as a lost cause. “Mmmrgh. Fine, fine.” Settling in, Vandham listens to a hell of a story.

* * *

“This is unfair,” Rex wheezes softly. Mal smirks at his Driver, amused. “Increased lung capacity my shiny new boots,” Rex complains, makes Mal laugh again, the Blade taking a seat with him while Rex leans into Mal’s shoulder.

Whatever had woken his Driver so late last night had seemingly evaporated come morning, though Rex had at the moment, been falsely cheerful to the point of manic, chatting up anyone and everyone who moved with a good cheer that had done a surprisingly good job of hiding his unease with himself. Slowly, he reaches up to thread his hand through thick brown hair, rests his head on top of Rex’s own in a deep hum. Slowly, Rex relaxes, breath becoming more even with every moment.

Mal didn’t know what to say, to broach the topic. Seeing Rex staring at the mirror without actually  _ seeing _ himself had been haunting, and the absolute absence of their bond for the moment in which Rex had seemingly been in another land had scared him by the sheer lack of life.

For the first time since he’d woken up as Rex’s Blade, Mal dearly wished he could talk without fear, quietly question his beloved Driver the same way Rex always did for him. The silence lingers, before Rex moves off of him with a grateful sigh, hauls himself to his feet.

“Almost there,” Rex sighs softly, opens his hand out to help Mal up. He takes it, allowing Rex to haul him close, though he doesn’t move away when Rex pulls him too close, the two standing practically chest-to-chest. Rex quirks a curious brow up at him, head tilting to one side. “Mal?” Rex has to lean back a little to look him in the eye still, confused and curious. “What’s wrong?”

Nothing was  _ wrong. _ And yet,  _ something  _ was off with his beloved Driver. He delicately touches Rex’s face, trails his fingers down to tilt Rex’s head up. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, yes?” Mal asks quietly, and Rex gives him a soft, somewhat bemused smile.

“You know I would,” Rex says with a soft sigh. Mal doesn’t let him look away, holds his eyes, hand still tilting Rex’s head up until his Driver caves. It’s a long process - Rex is as stubborn as any Titan, and Mal himself is no slouch - but in the end, Rex’s eyes slide to a side, mouth parting slightly as he makes to answer. “It’s… a Salvager thing,” he says, hesitant, and Mal lets him go to press a kiss to Rex’s forehead. “Let’s get to the top, and I’ll explain, okay?” Rex’s murmur is softly made, lips brushing over the fabric of his shirt, warm breath spilling over his chest.

“Okay,” Mal agrees amiably, and he lets his Driver have his space, takes Rex’s hand in his own. He’s already making plans for when they reach the top, knows that just because Rex said he’d explain didn’t mean he  _ actually _ would. Stubbornness was something both of them came by honestly, and Mal was quite glad it was him, and not some other Blade who was taking care of Rex. Heavens knows what trouble he would get into without Mal to keep him safe.

Mal snags Rex by the waist at the last step opening out to the pavilion, his Driver’s startled expression full of mild alarm and exasperation. His Driver’s back slams into the wall, the breath leaving him in a rush.

“Impatient,” Rex manages when the air has returned to his lungs, pressed flush against Mal as the Blade keeps him close, Mal ducking his head a little to observe him, brow raised in silent challenge. Rex is vaguely amused, their bond having sparked to life at the suddenness of his actions.

“I’ve been told that’s a problem of mine,” Mal murmurs, shares a quiet moment with his beloved Driver. “Now  _ talk, _ Rex. You promised me that we would at the top.” Rex blows another breath out, huffs at him.

“Can we at least  _ sit?” _ Rex whines. Mal considers, tips his head to a side, before hauling Rex up, the startled teenager’s legs wrapping around Mal’s waist. He slides a hand down to cradle him in place, smirks in challenge. Rex is scowling, but the same snickering giggly feeling has returned to their bond, and Mal counts that as a win enough to carry his beloved Driver off to somewhere they can sit.

“Happy?” Mal asks, once Rex is settled into a corner, Mal keeping him from escape with his body. Rex eyes him, before chuckling lightly, amused and willing to show it, their connection vibrating with laughter. Rex loops his arms around Mal’s neck, hugs him.

“Yeah. I’m happy,” he sighs, head tilting back as he smiles up at his Blade. Golden eyes close, and he slumps back against the wall, Mal adjusting his body so he could cuddle with his Driver more comfortably than planting his chin on Rex’s solar plexus.

“Talk to me, please,” Mal says softly, reaches out to stroke back the unruly strands of hair that hung loose around Rex’s face. He’d see about getting Rex a haircut sometime soon.

That thought disappears as soon as his Driver opens his mouth to quietly, shamefully speak.

It’s an echo; the feelings that Mal had felt when he’d first gone out without his old armor on, the armor of a murderer and child-killer he now was all too glad to shed, the Blade nuzzling Rex’s stomach as he listens, quietly provides reassurance.

“Does it help that I recognize you?” Mal asks quietly, when Rex is done. “As my beloved Driver?” He cups Rex’s face in his hands, and pulls up to kiss Rex’s forehead before returning to his place on Rex’s stomach. The wan smile he gets in return is enough.

“It helps a little, to know that I’m not unrecognizable, that someone thinks I fit in my skin.” Rex relaxes slightly, head tilting up to face the sky. Mal hums softly against Rex’s stomach, nuzzles him there until he relaxes like a Littlepon in the face of a soft brush.

“I think you’re fucking gorgeous,” Mal tells him, and Rex blushes a pretty shade of pink. They sit in comfortable silence for a long while, before Rex’s fingers stroke through his hair.

“Tell me about your visit with Cole,” Rex says, and Mal winces. “If I have to talk about the things that made me uncomfortable, so do you,” His beloved Driver says, tangles his fingers in Mal’s hair. Mal whines softly, anxiety bubbling under his skin. “Please, Mal,” Rex’s voice softens, a plea rather than an order.

It hurts. Will Rex hate him for the truth? Rex had given him his love far too easily, and now Mal was - terrified.  _ Utterly _ terrified, that the truth would make Rex hate him. But Rex had  _ asked _ him, and while Mal could deny his Driver at the cost of their closeness, the truth could be just as much a double-edged sword.

“You’ll hate me,” Mal tells him, and Rex cups his face in a hand, thumb running over Mal’s lower lip.

“I would never hate you for your past actions,” Rex says softly, and Mal winces, torn between believing his beloved Driver and fear that the truth would be too much for even him.

“I’m scared that what I’ve done might make you change your mind,” he says at last, but before he can change his mind, he opens his mouth and starts talking. He doesn’t recognize any of this. The past actions of which he had taken are completely foreign to him. The sheer  _ malevolence _ of them was in question, as he had little understanding of the motivations that drove him to commit atrocities that Cole had flatly told him were commonplace.

Slaughtering Titans with no direction, no understanding, he could not recall why.

When he stops, the look on Rex’s face is heartbreaking. Their bond is silent, tensely held. He could not believe that he was an  _ Aegis, _ a legendary Blade known only by a few, but Cole had not been kind, and what little of his attitude and mannerisms from the  _ before _ \- before he started to trust Rex, before grudging acknowledgement turned to affection and even  _ love _ \- cannot be explained away by Cole’s seeming hatred of him.

Nor could the suffocating feeling that would grip him even when he felt safest around Rex - the omnipresent  _ disaster _ that he felt was coming for him, even as safe and happy as he had been with his beloved Driver.

Rex does not let him go, gaze far and sightless, one hand tangled in his hair. Their bond is utterly absent, but when he tries to move, Rex firmly holds him in place.

“Don’t move.” Rex’s voice is toneless, even as long fingers move to start slowly stroking Mal’s hair again. “Gramps talked to me a little about Blades - how they exist, how they come to be. He told me - the first Driver always makes the strongest mark on their Blade. All that hate… all that  _ malice _ that you were faced with when you bonded with your Driver. That was  _ him.” _ Fury trembles from his words.

“You may have committed those actions, your hands may have held the weapon, but when all you know of the world is hate and misery and suffering, you become as much a casualty as any other soldier on a battlefield.” The bond sparks to life, and the sheer protective  _ rage _ within it is truly breathtaking. “He  _ stole _ your purpose, your reason for existing, and overwrote you. That is  _ unforgivable, _ and whoever he is, he better  _ pray _ that someone else gets to him before  _ I _ do.”

Mal stares up at him, eyes wide and shocked and more than a little frightened at the intensity of Rex’s rage, fierce and protective and loving.

“You...” He had no words to describe how much Rex meant to him, in that moment. “I love you,” he says, because he couldn’t find any other words to describe what he felt. Tears slide down his cheeks, from how  _ good _ Rex was, from the fact that Rex had every right to scorn him and hate him, to break their Bond as Blade and Driver and instead he chose to keep  _ loving _ him. Burying his head into Rex’s stomach, Mal affirms it a second time. “I  _ love _ you Rex,” he says against his Driver’s stomach.

Rex pulls Mal up, gold eyes fiercer than the sun. “I love you too Mal,” he promises, strokes Mal’s hair down. “Rule Ten applies for you, Mal. If I have to, I will  _ burn _ the whole world down to avenge you.” Rex’s mouth presses against his forehead, and Malos melts into him with a sigh of pleasure. “Now, c’mon. It’s getting late, and Vandham said he’d be back late tonight to discuss whether or not he’d be able to show us around for the week, or if we’ll be on our own.”

Humming, Mal obediently pulls back, but bravely, he leans in to gently kiss Rex on the cheek.

He still doesn’t have the words. But it’s okay, because Rex is smiling at him, anger banked for now, but so  _ willing _ to fight for him.

* * *

Vandham pulls up short when he recognizes the two figures. Mal seems to be calm enough, happy even, with how he was bargaining for some jewelry with Rex standing nearby, but  _ Rex _ himself…

If the boy wasn’t pissed as shite, Vandham would eat Roc’s weapon. He was talking quietly to Mal, who was half-pouting at his Driver for ruining his fun. Lean arms uncross, and Vandham notes that the boy is starting to look a  _ lot _ less underfed and scrawny. Just two days were doing him some good, _and_ he looked healthier.

But that scowl really wasn’t boding well for whatever poor sap had crossed his path. Rex notices him, and the scowl softens.

“Vandham. Good to see you. Still working on your job?” He greets, and Mal stops terrifying the poor Nopon so as to better look Vandham over. He smiles sheepishly, rubs the back of his head.

“Unfortunately, yes,” he admits. “We have two new recruits, and given that they had a bit of a rough time, I’ll be helping to settle them in. Shouldn’t take more than the week, and if it does, I’ll let you know.” Mal eyes him curiously, but nods.

Cole had explained in vague terms who Mal had been, but looking at the Blade - now back to arguing with the shopkeep about the earrings - couldn’t do much but make him wonder. What kind of Driver had Mal had to make him so monstrous, and if that was the case… Why was  _ none _ of it present now? Sure, there were flashes - when people insulted or bothered Rex, Mal seemed to switch personalities immediately, only to go back to being the gentler, kinder Blade that he so far had gotten to know.

“It’s really alright - we can always make like tourists,” Rex says easily, before Mal hums idly by Rex’s side, arm wrapped around his Driver’s waist almost casually. “What do you say Mal - fancy a chance to look around and scare the Nopon around here some more?” Mal chuckles, looks away from the wares to answer.

“Sounds good to me - and besides, there’s a jeweler around here that’s giving lessons on how to identify gemstones in a day or so. It sounds like something that might be handy for the job,” he confesses, and Rex’s smile is all slow indulgence and fond affection.

Vandham wonders if this is how people feel about how he and Roc communicate to one another. The communication is short, and Rex turns back to him.

“Thanks for the head’s up, Vandham. Best of luck to whatever it is you’re doing.” Rex’s sentiment is sweet, and after a quiet round of goodbyes, he heads off to check on the two newest members.


	17. Liminal Spaces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The in between spaces, where it is easy to forget those who are out of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mal and Rex are Sir Not-Appearing-In-This-Chapter, since the next one is going to be heavy on the feels. And the angst.

The blood drips from his fingers. With a will, Zeke pulls away from the resultant mess he’d inadvertently caused to the prisoners. Jin is behind him, a faint frown on his lips but no genuine chiding forthcoming.

“I thought I asked you to restrain yourself on this venture, Zeke.” Jin says at long last. “You’re on cleanup duty,” he says after a long while of staring at the mess, the man wrapping his hands around the sobbing man’s broken and bloody limb.

“The way those arseholes were talking about her… You can’t tell me you didn’t think of Nia,” Zeke says tightly, fists clenching in aggravation. Jin hums quietly at that, doesn’t argue the point further, obviously aware anything he said would go unheard and uncared about.

“He has valuable intel,” Jin sighs. “Refrain from injuring him further please. If you can’t, then go somewhere else. Our objective is to find out more about Angela. After we’re done, you can do whatever you please to him, but not a moment before.” Zeke nods sharply, turns around and leaves.

He gets it. Jin was correct in that he needed to stop killing people that pissed him off, but when that fucking bastard had made those…  _ comments _ about Angela, how she would have looked so much better with Gormotti ears to match her pretty figure…

He’d snapped. All he could see was Nia, wide-eyed and frightened, muzzle over her mouth and rope around her wrists, huddled in a corner and crying. When he’d come to his senses, the subject had been bleeding, arm broken. Architect above, did Zeke wish he’d killed him outright.

Sand nips at his face when he steps outside, the wind foretelling quite the sandstorm in their path. Silently, he stands still, allows the sharp winds to snap at him, the pain of the punishing air of Mor Ardain doing more to settle his outraged thoughts than just standing about like some kind of useless lout.

Healer Angela had not had an easy life, from their confession.

Had Pandy been here, maybe, she could have calmed his temper with her implacable calm, her soothing presence.

_ Torna’s not a good place, Zeke, _ she’d said, Dromarch by her side and cautiously agreeing with her. Her heart, her  _ bond _ with him had been in pain, telling him no. But she’d done it anyways, unable to agree to joining Torna.

He hates it, hates  _ her, _ just a little for leaving him. Hadn’t they always been a team, he and Pandy? They shared a Core Crystal, adored one another in every way. He had relied upon her during his banishment, her calm, her friendship to soothe his broken pride and his lost spirit.

And then she’d bloody up and  _ left _ him. Torna had offered them  _ both _ what they’d wanted, and what they needed, after the betrayal of the Praetor. A purpose. A  _ home. _

His fist hits the wall, stinging pain not enough to soothe the stabbing pain along his ether bond. Pandy had  _ left _ him, and he hated her for it.

And like a fucking fool, he still loved her too. Pressing his forehead to the rough metal of the wall he had just punched, Zeke thinks back to the confession of the vile man who had unwittingly roused his darkest thoughts.

* * *

_ Dear Akhos, _

_ Angela is a damaged woman. Not in the sense that she is irreparable, but in that her life has been less than ideal. For her to take healing up as a profession either bodes ill or well, of which I am unsure. Given her history, had one removed me from my Driver’s life, I believe Angela and Lora would have been forced into the same profession, most assuredly not by any choice of their own. The man who claimed her as his daughter was a minor nobleman who had been stripped of his titles and land, banished due to his actions towards his daughter. _

_ The Blade is as of yet still unknown to us. When pressed, the vile swine of which claimed to be Angela’s father had reportedly not recognized the Blade of which we spoke. He claimed that such a Blade would have fetched him a better price than his daughter in the noble courts of Mor Ardain. As such, it is not unlikely that he would have killed her for her Blade’s Core Crystal had it been in her possession while she remained in his care. _

_ Once I was sure all information had been extracted, I lopped his head off his shoulders myself. So that, at least, is one less problem of which you need to concern yourself with. _

_ Stay safe. If anything, I have learned that Angela’s history is gravely dangerous. Keep an eye out for men wearing a wolf pauldron - they may attempt to seize your healer companion. Stay safe. _

The note was unsigned. It had arrived three days ago via an increasingly grumpy Oberona, and he’d had to brush a kiss over her forehead and indulge her in a bit of senseless sparring to get her to calm.

Jin had talked about Lora at length to all of them, and particularly about the waste of space father that had sired her with a particular bitterness in his tone. Given the implications, he would rather not have this in his grasp, and he commits it to memory, burns it where it sits on the table.

“Thank you darling,” he tells Oberona, gets an annoyed look back, before she sighs and unbends enough to kiss his cheek.

“You’re lucky I like you, Driver of mine,” she says grumpily. “I’m going to go back to Patroka and Mikhail - call if anything,” she tells him, before evaporating into mist. Shaking his head, Akhos goes back to his task as Angela’s latest client leaves her office. Sparing a cordial nod, Akhos checks to see if it’s all clear before entering.

Angela appears to be checking her paperwork, though when he enters, her eyes flick up to check it’s him. The moment she does, she relaxes, though not fully.

“Good news?” she asks mildly, and Akhos gives an uncomfortable smile.

“Not really,” he says instead. “It’s a bit complicated.” Angela gives him an amused healer’s smile, as though she was  _ very _ aware of what he was doing, and it makes him a little uneasy. She always seemed to know what was going on in the trade guild, yet he rarely left her side.

As he rather liked his head on his shoulders, he did not dare attempt to read her missives, though he checked them over carefully all the same in concern of something being hidden within their contents.

After a moment, he hands them to her, and she accepts with a smile.

“Thank you for fetching the mail, Akhos. Though, I must say, you have quite the suspicious mind if you think someone will attack me via my mail,” she chuckles, checks them again herself as she carefully opens the letters one at a time.

“One can never be too careful when it comes to the deviousness of fiends.” It’s a reasonable point, but Angela grins at him like he’s amusing all the same. He scowls back, not amused by  _ her _ amusement.

“What a nasty, suspicious mind you have,” she teases him, and he scowls further.

“One of us should, and since it seems that you are determined to see the best in everyone, I’ll have to act as both of our suspicious minds.” Akhos says bluntly. Angela laughs, smile warming.

“And I will be grateful for it, I assure you,” she tells him with a smile. Akhos can’t help the flush that creeps over his ears.

* * *

“And here’s your room. It’s not much,” Vandham says apologetically to the pair. “We’re waiting on a shipment of wood to build another house, but hopefully we’ll be able to get you sorted and settled with a home of your own, however long you choose to call it yours.”

Pandoria takes in the scenery without a word, Dromarch beside her and unable to offer even the slightest purr of enthusiasm in response.

“It’s fine,” she says blandly, leans down to gently scratch behind Dromarch’s ear. “Thank you for your kindness.” Her fingers hurt, and Pandoria takes a moment to wonder if he’d gotten unlucky, or if he’d just punched something harder than him.

The ache to go back to Zeke was a tangible thing underneath her breast, a pulling sensation of pain and almost misery. But she couldn’t. Her eyes close. Dromarch purrs again, weak but there.

This was a toll on them both - the trial of being so far away from their Drivers an ache that hurt  _ so much. _

Sluggish, she turns to face Vandham, the kind mercenary looking at her in worry. “We’d like to get some rest,” she says cautiously. He looks them over, before nodding with a sigh.

“Alright. But I’ll have one of the kids come by and get you some tea and snacks, okay?” he asks, and she nods back.

“Thank you. That is very kind of you,” Pandoria smiles weakly, nods at Vandham as the man takes his leave, the pair entering the room in silence. It’s tiny, but the bed is homey, and well-kept. Pandoria and Dromarch could live a quiet, good life here. She sighs softly, takes a seat on the bed as Dromarch joins her, his comforting bulk enough to help push away the demons in her mind.

“We will weather this better the longer we are separated from them,” Dromarch tells her, and Pandoria’s smile is bittersweet.

“I know,” she sighs, ignores the taste of copper in her mouth and the heartache in her soul.

* * *

Poppi leans over Tora’s head, curiously poking at the diagrams. It had been some weeks since Tora had made Poppi, and she was as curious as a Littlepon, poking her nose into this, that, and the other. She was truly a marvel of engineering - and so very cute to boot!

“Masterpon, are we going to Argentum soon?” She asks, and Tora shakes his head.

“No-no Poppi! We cannot go while nasty guild man stays at guild - Mal-Mal can wait to meet you until after scary nasty guild man and horrible guild people are removed! Poppi too precious to risk with danger like that.”

Poppi smiles at Tora, clearly pleased. “Thank you Masterpon! Poppi is very glad to hear that.” She beams at him with clear joy, before going back to her actual task of cleaning the hideout for their planned escape. Tora had built a better than ever hideyhole up high on Torigoth, as a way to evade the ever encroaching army of Mor Ardain. There was so much to do, and not enough time to do it with, but Tora was ready! He and Poppi were going to prove that Ether did not make a Driver great!

Once the hideout was empty, Tora shoulders his rucksack, eyes the empty room. They’d already moved the big things, and all of the little things had not been worth the time of day to keep. It was empty now, the memories made with Grampypon and Dadapon all that was left of the room. Tora closes the door, and he and Poppi embark on their grand adventure.

* * *

Patroka clicks her tongue at Jin. He looks a  _ mess, _ and Zeke himself isn’t much better. Blood is crusted between Zeke’s fingers, dried in his hair, running a line down his cheek, and the scowl plastered over his face is fury incarnate.

“I’m going to take a shower. Let Nia know I’m not bloody leaving the damn thing until sundown.” Zeke stomps off before Patroka can tell him that it’s currently sun _ rise, _ before realizing he was probably being literal. Cautiously, Patroka touches Jin, nearly recoils from the ice that damn near frosts her hand into useless chips.

“Jin?” she tries her words this time, wishes Malos was here to thump a hand off of his head the way he did when Jin got into his funk.

“Angela… reminds me of Lora,” Jin’s voice is toneless, and Patroka winces. That was  _ not _ good. “How anyone survived that -  _ those _ \- Argh!” His temper results in a few spires of ice cracking to life under his feet.

“Why don’t you tell me over a meal? Could use some stew if you’re going to be freezing the ship,” Patroka’s tone is light and airy - Akhos used it all the time with Jin and it worked wonders. Wonders that it was  _ still _ working, apparently, given that he was relaxing into the idea.

“I have an idea...” He murmurs, strides into the kitchen. “How about-”

* * *

“Ruby-Stew Buloofo!” Angela’s delighted tone cuts through Akhos’s musing, and he looks up at the pot she’s brandishing with open joy, suspicious.

“Is it  _ genuine _ Buloofo?” he asks, though he takes the pot from her before she can eat it directly from the cooking implement.

Angela huffs at him, a childish joy in her eyes, curls flyaway and making her look every inch her twenty-six years, rather than older.

“Have you any idea what kind of fight I had to get into for this?” She demands fiercely. “If it isn’t genuine Buloofo, the Nopon that sold it to me will be missing six inches of fur, mark my words.” Akhos fights back a laugh. She truly looks like a child, joyful and sweet with her hair as it was and a big smile on her face. Her threat felt like a child’s, brandishing annoyance like a dandelion. Ahkos chuckles lightly, but fetches a pair of bowls to try the stew.

Mmph. Delicious. Nowhere near the caliber of Jin’s cooking, but it was undoubtedly a delicious meal all the same.

“You have excellent taste,” he compliments her, and Angela beams at him, amused but also more than happy to have gotten what he assumed was her favorite food. It was remarkable how similar to Lora she was, from the description Jin had given of his only Driver’s personality. The two eat in peaceful silence, and Akhos contemplates his problem.

If Malos truly was the strange Blade the Littlepons affectionately called  _ Mally, _ what would there be for Akhos to do about it? Malos had never known peace, even on the Monoceros, always driving forward to the end of Blades’ dependency of a Driver, by force if necessary.

But this Driver… Rex.

The boy was a positive force in the community - a young Salvager and often naive, but undeniably pure of heart.

It made him… uncomfortable to contemplate what Jin might do to the boy if the boy refused to let Malos return to Torna where he belonged. He had done things -  _ terrible _ things for Jin. He was a bastard, an asshole and mercenary - all things he would freely admit.

But harming children was a line Akhos hoped to never cross.

* * *

Morag slams the door shut behind her. How dare that…  _ lout _ dare try to besmirch her honor, betray her  _ trust. _

“Easy there, Lady Morag.” The new Viscount for Torigoth steadies her with a hand, the young Gormotti man giving her a rueful smile. “Deep breaths - his plot is caught, and his network is yours.” The words help ground her, and she slides a smile at the man.

“Thank you Viscount,” Morag gives him a tired nod of her head. “And again, thank you for your valor in this endeavor - if you hadn’t the bravery to speak up, the distrust between the citizens of Torigoth and Mor Ardain would have become too large a gulf to surpass.” The Gormotti’s lips quirk slightly with a smile.

“It’s my pleasure, my lady.” His smile is as charming as it is sincere, and it makes her chuckle breathily, takes the offered seat. “Now, we have much to discuss, don’t we?” He says, and she winces internally.

“Yes. According to the samples our scientists were able to gather, the land could only take about one and a half million residents of Mor Ardain without any significant strain. After that, the demands of the populace in the Capital Titan will be too much for Torigoth - it will result in yet another collapse.”

The Viscount nods, clears his desk off as he contemplates her words.

“Then what  _ can _ we do? After all that effort expended to win Torigoth from Uryayan hands, we simply cannot abandon it like a petulant child. Given the raised taxes levied upon the main Capital Titan, our citizens will revolt if we give up the Titan now.”

Morag blows out a frustrated breath, rubs her forehead. “I was thinking we could use another food supply Titan - the Ardain South Titan went down only a few months ago, and while the shortage hasn’t hit us yet, there’s enough arable land here that we can cultivate a wild foods Titan. Architect knows that this place is perfect for terraces and grains. We might even be able to set up an orchard if we’re careful with terracing the side of Torigoth.”

The Viscount hums lightly. “It should be doable. Most of the men here know lumber as their mainstay trade, but the areas that the lumber has been removed from could be utilized as a few open fields, and there’s at least one deforested area worth recultivating. Some of the ashes from the Mor Ardain fire fields would go a long way to cultivating the land for replanting.” Morag releases a relieved sigh.

“You have no idea how much of a relief it is to have a Viscount who knows what they’re doing,” Morag tells him, and the Viscount’s lips quirk into a smirk that seems almost at odds with his youthful expression. “Please take the compliment, Viscount. You have no idea what idiots I’ve been dealing with before they gave the job to someone competent.”

The Viscount’s lips quirk into a smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment indeed. And please.”

The Viscount leans in, smirking just slightly. “Call me Milton.”


	18. The Gorge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not all is right in Uryaya, and there is a twisted justice in play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not quite happy with this one either, but it's a lot better than the original draft.

“You’re not half-bad with those daggers of yours.” And what  _ unique _ daggers they were too - winking purple gems inlaid with a bright pink fire in the center. Vandham would  _ love _ to have a chat with his smith, if he ever had the chance. Rex slides a glance his way, smile curling slow over his lips. The action draws more attention to his cherubic features.

Again, Vandham briefly wonders who the boy’s parents were - he was already shaping up to look like a heartbreaker, and that was without him reaching full maturity. There was no way people didn’t get into fights over his folks, and  _ hoo. _ If Rex really was descended from the Hero’s line, he had quite the legacy to live up to.

“I got a little practice with Mal during the week - I’m not all that good with them yet, but they’re easier on me than the sword I used to use all the time,” the boy laughs, twirls a dagger around with one hand. Purple fire trails behind it.

Vandham didn’t know much about Mal still, aside from the fact that he was a Fire Blade, and what an  _ odd _ one he was at times. He had the fierce personality most of them had, but around his Driver, he was an almost phlegmatic presence, softer spoken and gentler around Rex than he was alone.

But what bothered him most was whatever had happened between Cole and Mal. Cole himself had become fiercely animated, but the discussion had left Mal… depressed.

That depression seemed nowhere to be found now, with a smile playing over his lips, lean fingers dancing around the sparkling gem of his flail.

“Almost there,” Mal tells them both with a half-smile, peering over the edge of the Uryayan Titan. The tunnels were less tunnels and more thin vine and stone bridges, the drop precarious for even a seasoned diver, much less one oversized man and a slightly skittish Blade.

Vandham was regretting his agreement to Rex’s terms… Though he would have probably insisted on coming anyways. Given a haul of this many Core Crystals was not a burden that a single Salvager and his Blade could effectively keep safe, Vandham would have come.

No matter how much he regretted it.

“Thank goodness,” Rex sighs, looks about as relieved as Vandham feels. “I won’t mind so much normally, but my new height can make me right clumsy at times,” Rex complains, and as though proving his point, the boy ends up tripping over a root, nearly topples over.

Brilliant purple flashes, and the point of the flail slams into the wall, creating a makeshift railing that catches Rex with easy grace. Mal looks faintly worried, but allows Rex to recover his balance on his own.

“Please pay more attention,” Mal’s voice is quiet, and Rex strides over to hug his worried Blade. “That one was close.”

“I’m sorry,” Rex apologizes, and Vandham wonders why he was apologizing. “I’m okay. I promise.” Rex stretches a little to kiss under an ear, makes Mal flush dully with pleased embarrassment.

Oh. Huh. That was kind of cute. Actually, that was  _ very _ cute. Rex beams at Mal fondly, before pulling back and lacing his fingers with Mal’s, tugging his Blade happily along. In short order, they reach the edge, and Rex peers over the edge carefully.

“Heck of a climb back up,” Rex muses to himself, watches as the two Titans bob along. “Mal, Vandham, you two are helping me carry it up. I can find and get it to the surface, but if it’s as many core crystals as you say, it’ll be  _ heavy. _ So you lot are going to help me haul it.” Vandham shrugs. It was the nicest and most straightforward way anyone had told him he was going to have to help them, so he had no qualms against it.

“Of course I will Rex,” Mal looks vaguely amused at him, ruffles Rex’s hair fondly.

“You’ll have no objection from me,” Vandham agrees easily. “It’s a damn sight nicer than most people would phrase it too.” Rex laughs, amused, and he stretches up to kiss Mal’s cheek.

“I’ll be back. Send me anything along the bond if you think it’s important.” Rex gives Vandham a quick smile, before he confidently strides to the edge. The boy judges the distance, attaches something to the edge, and then jumps, elegantly shifting position to dive into the Cloud Sea.

Vandham takes a quick look at an unconcerned Mal before he settles in for a wait.

* * *

Godfrey rubs his eyes free of the clinging frost on his lashes, scowls as he has to crack the ice around his body. It’s been a long day already, and Godfrey was not looking forward to another boring capture.

_ (This isn’t right!) _

He slams the base of his hammer down, shatters the last of the frost off of him. He had been instructed  _ (tortured) _ to find the Blade that had caught his Driver’s  _ (Jailer’s) _ eye. Handsome, with dark hair and pretty purple flames that matched his eyes. He matched the description of the Blade that the Driver  _ (Jailer) _ had seen hanging around Angela - the primary target who had escaped.

_ (The one good thing he’d ever done) _

The gossip had been unhelpful this time, with Godfrey having to instead track his targets  _ (victims! Please, don’t make me do this!) _ at a safe distance. He’d waited, watched, and observed. And when his targets had their guard down, he  _ moved. _

Ice sluiced down the satellite Titan’s forehead, crafting dozens of spikes as it journeyed ever further down, before exploding into thousands of pieces between the beast’s eyes, startling the Titan into collision with Uryaya. Leaping off the satellite Titan into the cave entrance before they collided, Godfrey aims to tackle the behemoth of a man accompanying his target  _ (victim!) _ with his ice. His shield slams between the man’s shoulder blades, staggering him and knocking him to the floor. Ice locks around the giant’s feet, and Godfrey shifts his weight, rolls off of the man at a sharp whistle of sound.

The flail is a pretty thing, all sharp edges and flare of fire, but Godfrey is not here to admire a worthy opponent. He is here to reclaim  _ (steal) _ a valuable Blade that Angela prized. It was not the flying Blade of which she claimed to be hers (given to help her escape) but it would do. Surely the sign of this Blade bloody and broken at his Driver’s  _ (Murderer’s) _ feet would force her into compliance. She had tended to him when he had been damaged (as she should!) and seeing him in pain and suffering would break her even further.

_ (Architect, someone  _ **_stop him please he couldn’t live with himself anymore.)_ **

His target is fast and nimble, has no qualms with fighting dirty either, glowing bright as fire wreathes him. So pretty and so deadly - Godfrey would have simply enjoyed the spar with him if he did not have more important  _ (lies, lies, lies) _ things to get on with.

The target  _ (no someone please stop him dammit!) _ is clever, but he is weakening - he is still formidable, but not at his true strength. A damn shame, really - Godfrey would have preferred a better fight.

**_(Liar! Stop and get away from them! It’s not too late!)_ **

The cold is too much, too heavy, too pervasive for the enemy to retaliate against, and eventually, he slumps, unconscious and sluggish. A broken whine leaves his lips, the Blade’s Ether signature bright as the sun itself as his Driver  _ (loyal and kind and loving why couldn’t Godfrey have ended up with him!) _ tried to provide him energy and protect him.

He loses, in the end, and the Blade collapses flat, unmoving.

His prize  _ (no prize no victory in defeating the innocent) _ is won.

* * *

Vandham groans at the feel of a hand lightly patting his face. His head hurts.

“Vandham I swear if you don’t wake up, you’ll find this pretty dagger someone in-bloody-convenient.” Rex sounds furious, his low tone a snarl that had him shooting up from the surprise of it.

Rex was dripping wet, expression utterly murderous, but it softens just a tad at the sight of frost encasing his limbs. The boy flips a dagger ‘round, and a single well-placed strike shatters the ice into manageable chunks.

“What do you remember?” Rex asks him, chest heaving as he helps haul Vandham up. The man wobbles unsteadily, and to his surprise, he can see the case sitting there, open and glittering with the bounty that Rex had promised him.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, stupefied. Rex glances back, before a pretty, vicious smile curls over his lips.

“Yes. I did.” His eyes flicker up, and Vandham is startled to see how the boy’s expression turns cold and calculating, head tilting to a side. “Let’s get this hauled back,” Rex suggests icily. “We’re in no shape to go far tonight, but you and I can at least make it somewhere safer with our prize.” Glancing up, Vandham winces.

The sun was beginning to set, and given that it had only  _ just _ become early afternoon, Vandham realized with a jolt that whoever had taken Mal had the biggest headstart without having killed both of them.

“Vandham!” The familiar cry of his partner makes him relax a little, the avian Blade coming in hot to pat down his shoulders and chest. “I started flying as soon as I felt you black out - one of the men I had helping me is tailing that odd red-head man to wherever they’re going.” Roc, bless them, turns to face Rex. “I assume this handsome fellow is the young man you hired?”

Rex’s smile is tight. “I’ll take the compliment, but I need to hurry. The  _ odd _ red-haired man, as you put it,  _ kidnapped _ my Blade.” Rex’s gold eyes flash a vivid, merciless purple. “I’d like to negotiate a contract and  _ quickly.” _ Vandham winces in spite of himself.

Rage. The same, bone-deep rage that had boiled under Rex’s skin at the beginning of the week. Vandham had a feeling that he was going to find out why.

* * *

Mal comes to with a groan. Frost nips at his nose, his skin, and he’s instantly aware that this is not the real world. Nowhere on Uryaya held frost grounds so vicious, at least, to his knowledge.

Faintly, he can hear the screams of pain, of agony and terror. Mal makes his way towards it. Rex would have gone towards them, no matter his own wishes in the matter. His Driver insisted on being brave, on doing the kind thing, the  _ right _ thing. Rex would follow the sound, try to get to the source, so Mal does the same.

Red hair. The same shade of red as his attacker, covered in thick layers of jagged frost. He is impaled upon his own ice, heart-torn sobs leaving his throat. Scarred and broken, ice turned against him, core crystal cracked but not yet missing pieces - the stranger who had kidnapped him was on a precarious edge, almost as bad as what he suspected his own was, before he’d been tossed into the Cloud Sea.

“Make it stop,” the Blade pleads, bloody tears tracking down his cheeks. “I don’t want to hurt people any longer, I can’t… I was never made for this!” Mal kneels down, and at this angle, he can see something wrapped around the Blade’s throat like a noose. It was wind-element green - a choker wrapped tight around his throat, robbing him of breath and digging under his skin like a thief.

Or more accurately… a  _ parasite. _ The Ether was being  _ sent _ somewhere.

* * *

Even with a splitting headache, the dream does not fade into his comfortable memory like the last ones, instead fills him with a sense of dread and wary confusion. Rex had taught him it was okay to be wary, that it was okay to not trust something until it was verified for himself.

But these dreams… no other Blade had them, he was sure, and after the chat he had with the white-haired man whom called himself  _ brother _ \- Mal knew there was something more to them than idle fantasy now.

He had been the sole target. His fingers brush lightly over his broken Core Crystal. It’s not Angela who ratted him out, that much he would stake his remaining Core Crystal on. And while Mal still retained his suspicions towards Cole, something told him that the man would not have put innocents in danger, a near persistent note in his core that  _ insisted _ that Cole was many things, but he would not have done that.

For one, it was far too easily noticed. Rex would blame Cole regardless, and the man had a family to protect. He wouldn’t run such a high risk that would put his granddaughter in harm’s way. Mal pushes himself up, groans quietly.

Whoever had taken him either was paranoid, or fully aware of who Cole told Mal he was. Given that they had not taken his false Core Crystal, he was willing to believe the former was true, for the time being. The room is tightly sealed, with only one vent that Mal doubted he could fit through on even his best day. He can feel the flow of air coming through, and sighs as he leans against the cold, harsh wall. Rex was already alert and aware from the rage filling their bond, and he tries to reach back.

It’s barely able to transmit his soothing feelings at that distance, but the rage dims slightly, fills with a yearning affection that Mal couldn’t help but smile at slightly. Rex was coming. He  _ had _ to be coming.

Mal knew his beloved Driver would never leave him to die.

* * *

“...aluable...” The sound of his Driver  _ (shame of the name a liar and pretender; a murderer) _ makes Godfrey slow. “The bint isn’t going to want us to have our hands on him.” That, Godfrey muffles a snort at. “I’ve got reports from some of our men in the guild - the Blade’s fire-element, and was strong enough to take out a Salvager’s bunker door to get in and protect his supposed  _ Driver,” _ the man spits. Godfrey’s interest piques.

If the prize  _ (victim and helpless, Blade in need of protection) _ was a fire blade Godfrey would eat his hammer.

“You want to split part of him and take it? The procedure’s never worked with active cores before.” The voice is confused, and Godfrey understands the confusion. He’d been there when they’d split that one Blade’s core apart, bored  _ (hating every minute, this wasn’t right it was never right how could he have simply stood there) _ out of his mind as he’d watched. It usually broke the core again to its components and the Driver was lucky if they didn’t end up catatonic.

“It doesn’t matter what happens to the Driver anyways - the little shit got rid of one of our biggest allies in the guild - his Blade driving him into a coma would be poetic justice for him ruining our revenge.”

“And what of your weapon?” Godfrey’s ears perk. He knows he’s their weapon _(hates it, hates that he can’t disobey and stop his torment)_ and he loves it. “He could come in handy for dealing with Angela when she comes.” A grin splits his face. It’d be _wonderful_ _(terrible)_ to see Angela again with his improved power.

Godfrey pushes off of the wall once no other information is forthcoming, goes to check on their little  _ guest. _ It wouldn’t do for him to escape before Godfrey went and had his fun.

_ (In the back of his mind, what is left of him whimpers, cracks further to his core.) _


	19. Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They are on a tenuous balance, and like glass, a single wrong move will send everything they've worked for shattered on the floor.

The moment Vandham heard about Mal’s  _ cross-shaped core crystal, _ he damn near spat his drink back out. Rex is giving him a sharp look from over his own pint of mead, not quite scowling, but not amused either.

The - he -  _ what? _ Vandham is suddenly very glad he’s alone with Rex, the two in a very quick, sharp negotiation to help Rex rescue his -

Oh boy. Oh sweet  _ Architect. _ What kind of ridiculous luck did this boy have to run around with the damn  _ Aegis _ as his first Blade? He takes a swallow of his drink before an even worse thought hits him.

Mal.  _ Malos _ the Destroyer. The Tainted Aegis of Legend that had sunk Torna itself.

If Rex truly was born of the Hero’s line, the irony would have had the man rolling in his grave with laughter.

“I’d keep that knowledge to yourself,” Vandham wheezes, and Rex eyes him shrewdly.

“What? That my first Blade is the Aegis? Or that someone tried to turn him into tiny pieces in an attempt to seize his power?” The sarcasm lays thick in his tone, and Vandham gives the boy a  _ look. _ Rex returns it, seething outrage under his skin as he glares at the map. “I’m not stupid, Vandham,” the boy bites the words off sharply enough that Vandham suspected the boy had quite the vile comment locked behind his teeth. “Mal doesn’t remember it - any of it. What use is it if he’s the Aegis if he can’t  _ bloody _ well remember a damn thing?” Vandham winces at the sheer rage. “I want whoever took Mal to  _ regret _ it, and if I have to do it myself then I will.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t help,” Vandham interjects hastily, before Rex can stand up and march out to give Cole a piece of his mind.

(Vandham knew Cole, but given how only Mal was targeted, Vandham knew that Rex would likely make the same connection, no matter how true it was or was not.)

“Oh? Help the Tainted Aegis?” Rex says archly, head tilting to a side. “I did my reading Vandham - I know how people feel about Mal.” Vandham winces again.

“And I’ve met Mal. You’re good for him - and no Blade is responsible for the actions they’re forced to take, especially once they’ve found a new Driver.” Rex softens just barely, but suspicion is heavy in his gaze. “Rex - you have my word that I will help you rescue your partner. Mal is yours, and the way you feel about him is obvious to anyone with eyes.” Vandham holds his hands up, watches Rex glare at him. “I’m just saying. I wouldn’t leave Roc in the lurch, and I doubt I’m as close with Roc as you are with Mal.” Rex softens again, looks away as he takes a sip of his drink.

“I have your word, huh?” Rex asks quietly, looking away as he considers Vandham’s words like a cat with a prized mouse.

Vandham is again struck by the sight of him, leaning back to take him in. Sleek and trim lines, messy brown hair and dark circles under his eyes with a light frown over pretty features. He was a beauty to behold, classical grace and lean, elegant lines.

But all that beauty hid a very real, very terrifying danger.

* * *

Akhos is worried. The man is pacing the length of her study, head tilting to one side or the other, and Angela draws close, waits until he notices her to touch his shoulder. He softens and unbends for her, dark eyes blinking as she gently nudges him to a seat.

“You look worried,” Angela tells him. He grimaces slightly, rubs the bridge of his nose.

“The Ether of Argentum has been disturbed lately. There have been Blades I do not recognize that have been stalking the area.” His eyes catch hers, and she frowns.

“That shouldn’t disturb the Ether,” Angela says mildly. Akhos scrubs a hand through his hair, scowling.

“I know it shouldn’t. But something is  _ wrong _ with those Blades. I can feel it every time I pass one of them.” It’s not a concern he would have brought up under normal circumstances, Angela knows.

“What interest do they have in me? Are they watching me? Following?” She questions gently, and Akhos grimaces.

“That and more. They’re inquiring about you, digging around like rats in sand.” Akhos’s eyes narrow into a glare as he considers the implications of it all. “Someone has designs upon you - with the unrest and your recent injury -” Akhos’s eyes flash to her, but if he is looking for remorse, Angela has none, “- some think you are easy pickings. I don’t know their goals, as of yet.”

“You will,” Angela offers the words as a soothing platitude, and Akhos huffs, looks up at her in a faint scowl. “Akhos - I’ve seen you work for nearly a month now. You’re capable of sussing out the truth on your own - and you’re sharp enough to cut to the heart of this problem. You’ll be fine,” she says reassuringly.

It was a sign of their deepening friendship that he doesn’t call bullshit on her attempt to soothe his wounded pride.

“You’re too kind,” Akhos tells her instead, and her lips quirk into a fond smile at him.

“You agreed to be both of our nasty, suspicious minds,” she reminds him with good cheer. “It allows me to be an optimist.”

Akhos startles them both by snorting loud enough to wake XII. The raven gives a caw of surprise, flaps his wings at them irritably, and goes back to his nap, tucking a head under a wing in corvid annoyance.

Angela can’t help but smile. It’s good, to see her corvid friend relaxing.

* * *

Godfrey thinks it’s rather weak  _ (smart) _ of his prey  _ (victim)  _ to not attempt escape when he enters with a tray of food.

“Eat.” He says bluntly, kneeling down as he drops the plate before his captive  _ (victim) _ . Dark gray eyes flick up to meet his, and he gives a vicious grin in response. “I want you at full strength if you’re going to fight your way free,” Godfrey tells him, and the Blade’s eyes drop to the plate.

“Thanks,” the Blade decides on saying, is quick to devour the sandwich and lick his fingers clean. When he’s done eating, Godfrey tilts his head up, fingers cupping a chin and tilting his head back to make eye contact again.

This time, grey eyes flicker with a flare of purple fire. Annoyance. He gives a smirk in response, tilts the Blade’s head left and right without concern for the growing aggravation.

“You’re a rather pretty Blade,” Godfrey compliments. “Bet you’ll look better with some blood on you, staining that lovely skin of yours.” _ (No, he’d look so much better free of this place, of this madman.) _

The Blade looks startled, then annoyed and vaguely upset.

“You’re Godfrey the Just.” Oh-ho - someone  _ was _ familiar with his legend. He grins.

“Thought it was time for a career change,” he says with a smirk, head tilting arrogantly.  _ (No, please, turn back, this isn’t a mistake you can’t walk away from yet.) _ “Got bored of babysitting people all the damn time.”

_ (I want to go back to saving people, not killing them,  _ **_please.)_ **

The grey eyes flicker over him once more. “You’re a bad liar,” he says bluntly.

Godfrey’s smile slips.

“What did you say about me?” He carelessly shoves the plate aside - it’s empty, so who the fuck cares when the plate smashes against the wall and shatters into a thousand pieces? “I don’t fucking  _ lie, _ asshole.”  _ (He’s right! I hate this, I want to go back, please listen to him!) _

The Blade’s either suicidal or gutsy, because he meets Godfrey head on. “You heard me,” He says bluntly. “Your actions don’t match your Ether. You’re  _ lying _ to me.”

Rage boils under his skin, and he grabs a fistful of the Blade’s shirt. “You’re on thin fucking ice, bastard,” Godfrey seethes, slams the Blade back  _ (No! Don’t hurt him!) _ against the wall. “I love what I am, and you should get used to it,” he snarls.  _ (Hate it, hate this, hate myself so  _ **_much)_ **

The Blade looks dazed at the impact, but stubbornly looks him in the eyes.

“You’re still lying,” the Blade insists, breath short and raspy from pain. “I can feel it.”

“You need a lesson in fucking  _ manners,” _ Godfrey seethed. And  _ oh, _ does it feel satisfying to bring a fist back, plow it into that pretty, punchable face.

_ (inside him, something sobs.) _

* * *

Rex damn near folds in half at the sudden stab of pain along the bond.  _ Mal! _ He sends along worry through the bond, and Mal’s connection seizes tightly, but pulses weakly back - affection and something close to mild embarrassment. There’s still pain in the bond, but it’s muted. Vandham is watching him warily, as do several others, and he forces himself upright.

“Are the men you picked here yet?” Rex says coolly, shoots the staring strangers a level, challenging look. Wisely, they scatter.

“Almost,” Vandham promises him gently. “They’re just getting some materials - we have no idea if we’re going to have to break into a bunker, or even if there may be other defenses past what Roc and the boys were able to dig up on the area, so they’re getting everything we might need.” Rex’s eyes glitter with annoyance, but he breathes out, a sharp, high pitch.

Don’t make enemies. Vandham was an honest bloke, a good one. Mal’s voice in his ear, a gentle chastisement, all warm affection and mild touch settle him down. He closes his eyes, forces himself still and takes slow, deep breaths until he’s calm again.

“Sorry,” Rex makes himself say, opens his eyes to the world and finds himself a seat, perching on the fence even as his fingers tap a jitterbug dance over his arms. He’s nowhere near calmer, his rage still thick in his throat and tasting vaguely of blood.

Mal needed him. And Rex needed Mal so badly that it  _ hurt, _ blood and bruises and revulsion in his throat.

Part of him distantly notes that Vandham is staring at him in worry, and he pulls his bottom lip free from his teeth at the realization of wetness dripping down his chin. With a muttered curse, Rex pulls his handkerchief from his pocket to delicately dab at the oozing cut.

It stings, but oddly enough, it grounds him to the here and now, allows him to soothe his ruffled feathers. The pain was a good focus for him. He’d remember that for when he needed the focus.

“I’m sorry,” He says again. “I...” His voice is lost, briefly. How did one  _ explain _ their first Blade? Their closest, most dearly beloved?

Vandham settles a large hand on his shoulder. “I understand,” he says sympathetically. “We’re ready to go,” he adds, and Rex looks around.

There’s a fair number of men, but Rex knows that numbers mean nothing against skill and might. Either way, he tucks his bloody handkerchief into his pocket and stands.

“Time to give them hell,” Rex muses aloud, his words echoed by a grin on the part of the assembled men and women.

Those who dared touch  _ his _ Mal were going to regret it.

**Author's Note:**

> I am not British, so if you see anything that needs to be Brit-picked for Rex or any other character, let me know.
> 
> Inspired entirely because I was thirsty over [this](https://twitter.com/suneiaaa/status/1229499562219515904) image.


End file.
